


The Gift of Choice

by tinylilremus



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-08 19:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12260580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinylilremus/pseuds/tinylilremus
Summary: Neither Alec nor Magnus is particularly thrilled at the discovery of their soul marks. Alec because he knows that the design of it means that his soulmate is a Downworlder, something practically unheard of in Shadowhunter society. For Magnus, the idea of being permanently attached to a joyless demon-killer is hardly a thrill. Given that they can choose if they accept their soulmate or not, the decision seems like a no-brainer.But when Alec finally meets the beautiful, other-worldly Magnus and Magnus meets the gorgeous, self-sacrificing Alec, it becomes clear that the decision might not be as easy as they thought it would.





	1. Chapter 1

_"Sometimes to be seen is the same thing as being saved."_

_– Mary Rakow_

* * *

 

Alec is sixteen when the mark first appears.

Though he instantly recognises it as a Destiny rune, unlike the bold sweeps of his Shadowhunter marks, this one is fine and delicate: a faint white network of lightning bolts just above his right knee. Though he has never seen anything like it, he knows what it might be and that it’s definitely not a good thing. That it’s not right. That it’s dangerous.

He keeps it covered and resolves to tell no one. He couldn’t bear it if his parents looked at him differently. Isabelle might understand, but she’s young and idealistic and inclined to believe that everything happens for some big beautiful romantic reason. She won’t understand that this is a cause for alarm and discretion and secrecy.

And Jace…

Jace will never know about it.

***

The appearance of the mark on Magnus’ thigh, just above his left knee, is the single most interesting thing that has happened to him in a century.

And that’s saying something because the twentieth century was _nuts_.

He stares at it for ages in his full-length mirror, hardly able to believe that it’s really there. It’s the same shape as the Destiny Rune of the Nephilim, but nothing like the large garish marks that cover their bodies. These lines are white and fine, zigzagging and meshing together in places so that it looks like it’s made of tiny bolts of lightning.

He’s seen this before. Over the centuries he has counselled more than a few confused and frightened Warlocks, Lycanthropes and Children of the Night baring marks of the same size and shape. The idea of it happening to him, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, in the twenty-first century is almost laughable.

He shares a soul mark with a Shadowhunter.

He is a Shadowhunter’s soulmate.

He knows that the mark is just an indication that a soul bond between a Nephilim and Downworlder is possible, that the Angel of the Shadowhunters wills it, but does not necessarily command it. Once Magnus has met the bearer of the matching soul mark, he will be able to choose whether or not to accept the bond. It doesn’t stop the chill that spreads across his skin at the thought of being bound to one of those stoic and humourless warriors.  

With one last glance at the mark, he tugs on his black leather pants and strides to the kitchen to fix himself the stiffest drink he can.

***

“What’s going on with your leg?”

It’s just after midnight and he’s midway through a mouthful of the leftover cake from his twentieth birthday feast. The soft vanilla sponge suddenly feels like sand in his mouth. Isabelle is standing in the doorway to the kitchen staring at the spot on his right thigh where his mark is hidden underneath his clothes. When he glances down, he sees that to his horror the mark is glowing, the bright purple of it cutting through the weave of his sweatpants.

“Nothing,” Alec lies after swallowing down the cake with difficulty. “It’s my just my cell.”

“You must have some freakishly deep pockets.” Isabelle looks ghostly pale in the witchlight and her shrewd tone; coupled with her dangerously raised eyebrows, make Alec temporarily forget that she’s two years younger than him and at least a head shorter. When he keeps blankly staring at her, too horrified to say anything, she rolls her eyes. “Look, Alec, I’m not asking to see it. I just want to know if it’s what I think it is.”

“What do you think it is?” he asks, aiming for casual and hitting panicky instead. Despite some very close calls, he’s managed to keep his secret for four years now and the thought of it being discovered, of it setting off the course of events that he imagines will change everything, fills him with an icy dread.

“I think it’s a soul mark,” she says. Her eyes shine excitedly at the thought of everything that those words entail. This is exactly the kind of scenario Isabelle loves – danger, secrets and forbidden romance – and Alec absolutely hates. Their job involves throwing themselves headfirst into dangerous situations every day. Why add to it by complicating the parts of their life that are supposed to be a respite from all that?

“Mom says that those are just fairytales,” says Alec. His legs are suddenly having difficulty keeping him upright.

“Mundanes would argue that _we’re_ fairytales. It’s hardly beyond the realm of possibility.” Isabelle strides across the kitchen to him and hitches up the hem of her t-shirt to reveal a mark of her own on her right side just below her ribcage. It’s also unmistakably the Destiny Rune, but while Alec’s looks like it is made of a fine network of electricity (especially now that it has taken to glowing), Isabelle’s white marks are elegant, graceful and dangerously sharp, as if the points of the rune are blades that might pierce the skin of whoever touches them.

“Fuck, you too?” he says and Isabelle nods. While he’s momentarily relieved that he’s not alone in this, his fear immediately doubles knowing that he now has to start worrying about his sister’s secret too.

“I noticed it a few weeks back, after my birthday,” she says, tugging her shirt down again. “I thought I’d somehow been marked with the Destiny Rune at first, but it’s so angular and sharp that I know it can’t be entirely Shadowhunter. You know what this means, don’t you? It means that our soulmates, those the Angel wills us to be with are –”

“Look, it’s the middle of the night and we have a big mission tomorrow night,” says Alec, pouring as much finality into his tone as he can. “Goodnight, Izzy.”

“By the Angel, Alec, you can’t just ignore this. It’s important.”

“Goodnight,” he repeats, striding out of the kitchen.

After a tense walk back to his room, dangling his Rune Stone loosely in his hand in the hopes that the bright witchlight drowns out the glow coming from his skin, Alec locks his door and searches in his wardrobe for the knee support he uses to cover his mark when he wears shorts during his training. He rolls up the leg of his sweatpants and before he pulls on the support, he takes a moment to examine the electric purple glow, marvelling at how it makes his mark look almost alive. Small specs of light still shine through the neoprene, but with the added layer of his sweatpants, the unnerving but admittedly beautiful glow is blotted out.

That night, Alec dreams of bright lights, smoky rooms with high ceilings and spine-tingling music from an otherworldly source. In the midst of a swarm of swaying bodies, Alec dreams the colour purple and of dark but irresistible mirth in a glittering pair of cat’s eyes.

***

It’s difficult to define what he feels when he sits up to read the fire message that comes to him from the New York Institute. The polite, but almost demanding words of Jace Wayland, requesting a meeting between him and Clary Fey at an upcoming Downworlder party in exchange for Camille’s necklace fill him with such a mix of emotions that it takes Magnus reading it four or five times to finally make up his mind about it.

His decision made, he swipes the message aside with a dismissive flick of his hand and rolls onto his back.

It’s mid-morning and he’s still in bed, taking an hour or two of quiet from the otherwise non-stop interaction with the large group of Warlocks who are seeking refuge in his lair. No one has come looking for him yet and he’s grateful that despite their fear, they seem to be mostly happy to give him his space. Kicking off his heavy duvet, he hitches his knees up to examine his soul mark for the millionth time, tracing gentle fingers over it like he has for over four years now. It’s been glowing purple for the last week or so and from previous experience, he knows that means that it’s almost time for him to meet the Shadowhunter he’s fated to. It’s this more than anything that seals his decision to attend the meeting. If there’s even the slightest chance that he can meet the bearer of the other soul mark so that he can dismiss them and get on with his life, he’s determined to take it.

Though he hasn’t been strictly discreet about the mark (more than a few of his diversions have remarked upon it mid-kiss, much to Magnus’ annoyance), with Valentine out there hunting down his kind, he knows that the animosity from his people towards the Clave is at an all-time high and it would be unwise to flaunt any signs of familiarity and affection towards them. Not that he has any affection for them. To Magnus, the Nephilim are a necessary evil, an unavoidable part of living in the Supernatural world, no better or worse than any other being, even if they do have angel blood running through their veins. Despite this, for the past week Magnus has had to wrap his knee in dark fabric before pulling on his clothes to make sure that the bright purple light doesn’t cause suspicion, and the extra bulk has been throwing off how amazing he knows his legs look in skinny jeans.

He will have to tell Elias about the meeting, to make sure that he can hold the wards while he’s gone, and he already anticipates how badly that conversation will go. Groaning with the future exhaustion of it, Magnus throws an arm across his eyes and wonders, not for the first time, how he manages to get himself into these situations.

Chairman Meow hops up onto the bed next to him and Magnus turns to look at him, sighing as he strokes him behind his ears.

“Time to meet my Prince or Princess Charming I guess.”

It’s not a happy thought.

***

He tells Isabelle he feels better after his outburst in the weapons room, but he feels worse. There is a dread at the pit of his stomach far worse than any dread he’s ever experienced before a mission. The stakes are higher than they’ve ever been. This mission is the riskiest one they’ve ever faced and no amount of Jace’s determination or Isabelle’s almost naïve positivity is doing anything to quell the enormous fear that bubbles just beneath the surface of his skin.

And for what? For some girl with the most tenuous of connections to their world. A girl who might as well be a mundane.

He glares at the back of her stupid orange head as they walk, glamoured, to the nearest subway station. He hates every ignorant, clueless word that comes from her mouth, hates the way that they’re risking everything for her despite having known her for an amount of time quantifiable in hours and most of all, he hates the way Jace looks at her, as if every word she says is a gift and every flick of her hair is a work of art.

The way he’s always secretly hoped Jace would look at him.

“Oh lighten up, Alec,” says Isabelle, threading her arm through his. “We’re going to a _Downworlder_ party which means that there’s a chance you might finally find out why you’ve got that awesome lumo tattoo.”

Alec wants to tell her to shut up, to stop being such a pain in the ass and to realise how fucked up this whole situation is. Instead, he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being so damn… _up_ all the time?”

“Don’t you ever get sick of being such a downer?”

“Arrgh, Izzy you’re so…” he gestures frustratedly with his free hand.

“Adorable?” she grins. “I know.”

He’s still mad, but despite himself, Alec finds that he’s grinning too.

***

Magnus tries to convince himself that the meeting was a success. That the heavy necklace forming a comfortable weight in his pocket proves that it was.

But Clary is as stubborn as her mother, Jace, the surly Shadowhunter who organised the meeting is made of pure asshole and the cherry on top of it all is that he was nearly knifed. Apart from the bright flicker of _something_ that rose in him upon seeing the tall, dark-haired Shadowhunter who saved him with a well-aimed and perfectly-timed arrow, the night was a disaster and Magnus has never been so excited at the thought of the high ceilings and exposed brick walls of his lair.

His excitement quickly turns to horror on the other side of the portal.

Despite knowing for a fact that his living room was supposed to be full of Warlocks keeping up the wards in his absence, he immediately senses that the wards are down. Fearing the worst he bursts through the front door and barely has time to register the bodies of his friends strewn around his living room like ragdolls before spotting two strange men on the other side of the room.

Rage courses through him and he immediately begins launching attack after attack, managing to incinerate one of them. The other glances around at his burning friend, his face betraying horror before turning back and smirking malevolently at Magnus. Backing towards the door, Magnus uses a surge of magic to throw a bookshelf in front of the man.

_He needs to trip. Spells are always harder to cast on a moving target._

In grim and hollow amusement, through a rip in the knee of his pants, his eyes catch a glint of luminescent gold.

So he did meet his Shadowhunter tonight after all.

***

Magnus Bane is nothing like Alec imagined him and even with the pictures Hodge showed them earlier, seeing him in person is unnerving and surreal.

He would expect a Warlock reluctantly coming out of hiding to try to dress somewhat inconspicuously, but Bane seems to have dressed to draw the eye as much as possible. The sequined collar of his patterned jacket catches the colourful lights of the club, as do the pendants around his neck, rings on his fingers and earring just below the tip of his ear. His hair is artfully tousled and Alec notices with a jolt, discovering a new one of his ‘things’, that Bane’s eyes are elegantly lined with dark makeup.

 _He’s hot,_ he admits to himself with only the slightest reluctance.

Alec is taken aback when, a second later, as if to throw all his remaining fucks out the window, Bane casts a portal and offers a hand to Clary. Alec is surprised, but not so surprised that he doesn’t feel a faint sense of relief at the idea of Clary leaving.

_Good. Go with the Warlock and be his problem from now on._

Then, just behind the portal, Alec’s eye catches the glint of a Seraph blade.

He doesn’t know how he reacts as quickly as he does. Years of training have honed his reflexes to razor sharpness, but nothing like this. One moment he’s watching the exchange between Jace, Clary and Bane, unable to tear his eyes away from the glittering Warlock, and the next, one of his arrows is embedded in the chest of the figure wielding the knife. He doesn't even remember drawing his bow.

He rushes down the stairs to retrieve his arrow, unable to ignore the faint crackle of electricity he feels as he passes the Warlock, nor the interested _‘Who are you?’_ he’s sure he hears the Warlock mutter. He doesn’t know why, but the vague inkling that Bane might be just as surprised and fascinated by him as he is by Bane makes him feel immensely pleased with himself.

He realises that this must be how Jace feels all the time.

No sooner has he catalogued this string of confusing and incoherent thoughts than Bane is stepping towards the portal, ignoring Clary’s pleas for him not to leave. He loosens himself from her grasp and a second later, vanishes along with the necklace and any bargaining power with him that they thought they might have. Large groups of Downworlders are staring at them now and they race out of the club before anyone can start asking questions.

If Alec was angry before, it’s nothing to the seething rage he feels now.

How can Jace not see what a liability this stupid, immature girl is? How is he so blind to the irresponsible, life-threatening risks they’re taking for her?

As Jace starts admonishing him for pointing out how stupid this whole situation is, it’s all Alec can do not to punch him in pure frustration.

And now Clary is yelling at him. Clary whose fault this is. Clary who has no idea what she is asking Jace and Isabelle and him to do. What she’s asking them to put on the line for her sake.

Alec has to grit his teeth to fight the urge to hit her too.

He is both relieved and frustrated when Jace opens his hand to reveal the button from Magnus Bane’s jacket. Part of him, the part of him that is pure Shadowhunter, wants nothing more than to shake this Magnus Bane for all the information he has so that they can get their hands on the Mortal Cup and this whole nightmare can be over. The other part of him, the part of him that is Jace, is terrified of what information from the Warlock might mean for his Parabatai's sudden disregard for his own life.

There’s another part of him that’s begging for another glance at the Warlock, but Alec pushes this part down as far as he can.

Alec ultimately finds himself pleased when Jace can’t track Bane, and there’s a fleeting victory in the idea that they won’t be able to carry on with the Mundane girl’s deadly wild goose chase. It evaporates a second later, however, when Jace turns to him expectantly and Alec knows what he’s going to ask before he asks it.

Parabatai tracking. Of course.

There are times that being Jace’s Parabatai is the most beautiful thing in the world. When in the middle of a fight it feels less like a battle and more like a choreographed dance and when their shared memories become almost physical chords that strengthen the bond between them, ties that almost tangibly bind them.

There are other times, however, where Alec deeply resents their connection, when he hates the fact that they are stronger together, that they’re weaker apart, and that he’ll go along with pretty much anything Jace asks him to do.

This is one of those times.

He grasps Jace’s outstretched hand, pushing away the jolt he feels whenever their skin connects and tries to drown out the litany of unhelpful thoughts that surge as he stares into Jace's bright blue eyes. It’s almost cruel how the one thing he wants most in the world plays a vital part in any Parabatai ritual, but never in the right way. Never how Alec wants it to be.

After a few agonising moments where Alec’s heart beats so loudly against his ribcage, he’s sure that Jace can feel it thrumming through his palm, they catch a glimpse of a run-down warehouse and Magnus inside it. Jace lets go of Alec’s hand and immediately sets off, expecting the rest of them to follow him.

Alec resentfully, but obediently, does.

They’re barely inside the warehouse when they realise that something isn’t right. Bane’s wards are down which can only mean danger.

Alec’s heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. Of _course_ this wasn’t going to be a straightforward house call. 

“You,” he says to Clary, full of hatred so acute, he feels as if he might choke on it, “don’t get in the way.”

He sees his loathing for her reflected back at him and it fills him with an odd satisfaction. At least they have something in common.

The sight of one of Valentine’s men violently stabbing another man snaps him instantly back into focus. He'll worry about Clary later; right now he has a job to do.

There are people on the lower level and Alec knows that he should be helping them – after all, Jace seems to have the better idea of where Bane might be – but somewhere in his gut, he feels drawn to the top floor where he hopes that the Warlock is still alive and fighting.

“I’ve got Bane,” he says to Jace as he dashes past, bow at the ready, and Jace nods, throwing a knife expertly into the shoulder of the man Isabelle had caught in her whip. He tries not to think about the stupid smile he sees Clary give him as he makes his way along a narrow walkway towards what he assumes is Bane’s front door.

There are people strewn everywhere and it's not clear if they're dead or alive. Alec has to swallow his horror as he rounds a corner to find Bane fighting off the advance of a horrible smirking man. With the same unexplainable reflexes that he discovered at the party, Alec shoots an arrow and it flies true, straight into the asshole’s leg. The man recoils in pain and while he lies prone, Bane makes quick work of finishing him off.

“Well done,” says Alec, genuinely impressed. He doesn't often get to see magic up-close.

“More like medium rare,” he shrugs. A second or two later, the Warlock is striding towards him and time seems to grind to a halt as Alec’s brain short-circuits. While he’s found many men attractive over the years, it was never like this. Whether because Magnus Bane is a Downworlder or just one of the most interesting people Alec has ever seen, this is something new and uncharted and dangerous and he doesn’t know if he loves it or hates it yet.

All he knows is that Magnus is very beautiful and now he’s standing very close to him. There’s a faint gold glow coming from somewhere between them and it catches the traces of glitter on his face, giving him an almost angelic look.

“I’m Magnus. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

The friendly smile on his face masks something pleasantly dark and wicked and Alec can’t help the silly grin that takes over his own features knowing that he's got Magnus' full attention. That all of Magnus' charm in that moment is directed at him.

“Alec,” he says, and Magnus' smile shifts suddenly to something almost shy. It’s disarming but lovely and Alec realises panicked that he needs to get out of there. Now.

“I, uh… we should really, you know, probably get… you know?” He gestures towards the door, words tumbling uselessly out of his mouth.

“Right,” Magnus nods. “We should join the party.”

His tone is amused but kind and Alec suddenly wants nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him.

“Right,” Alec repeats breathlessly, before turning and all but running towards Magnus’ front door. He leans just outside it for a moment, allowing his brain a second to process what just happened.

_The fuck, Lightwood?_

It’s only halfway down the stairs that Alec realises that the golden glow that lit up Magnus' face had been coming from a rip in Magnus’ pants, right where there would be a glow coming from Alec’s if his were ripped like that.

In his shock, he misses a step and nearly plunges headfirst down the rest of the stairs, when he’s stopped in midair and gently lifted back to his feet by what feels like a warm breeze. He glances around to see Magnus at the top of the stairs, purple light retracting back into his hand and amusement deeply etched into his features. The tear at his knee looks like it’s been repaired, but whether through his Shadowhunter abilities or just wishful thinking, Alec thinks he can still see the faint glow of gold beneath the blue fabric.

“Now, Alexander, it won’t do to have you falling for me so quickly,” he almost purrs as he descends to where Alec is standing, dumbstruck. “We’ve only just met, after all.”

Magnus is teasing, flirting, and Alec knows it. What he knows even more though is that his words are more true than Alec is willing to admit.

Fucking Warlocks.

***

Shadowhunters, Magnus muses as he finally crawls into bed, are probably far more trouble than they’re worth.

Only a Shadowhunter could save your life after being summoned to an ultimately useless and disappointing meeting, track you down after you portal the fuck out of there, arrive just in time to heroically help save your life and the lives of many of the other Warlocks in your care, help you move home (in a way), then ask your help in summoning a greater demon, fuck up the ritual so thoroughly that not only is the whole operation rendered useless, but someone nearly dies, then demand help for said nearly killed someone and, finally, stalk off sullenly because the ritual made you confront actual feelings.

Not that Magnus is keeping score or anything.

He lies staring at the golden glow of what used to be his perfectly normal (though admittedly flawless) leg, wondering what he fucked up so royally in the last decade or two so as to warrant this fresh hell. Is he doomed now to always be dragged into the insane mix of bureaucracy and violence that is the world of the Nephilim?

No. Not if he doesn’t want to be. He still has a choice.

But his choice just got one whole Alexander Lightwood more complicated.

He definitely met the bearer of the other soul mark tonight (there’s no other way his mark would be glowing gold like this) and knows it can only be one of four people. It’s not Clary or Isabelle – their marks would have been visible below the hems of their dresses – leaving Magnus with just Sullen Steve (who seems to only have eyes for Clary anyway) and sweet, shy and impenetrably guarded Alec, the conundrum. It’s his conviction that Alec is the owner of the matching mark that makes it so difficult for Magnus to be as convinced about his decision as he was a few days earlier.

The idea of soulmates is almost entirely a Shadowhunter one, grounded in their belief that their Angel connects people who will bring out the best in each other for the good of the world. As such, the concept is not one that usually exists in his usual circles. The only occasions where Downworlders give it any thought are times like this, where a mark suddenly appears on their skin with no explanation and they come looking for answers.

 _“’When the Nephilim meet their fated, the Destiny Rune marks the skin on the same part of their bodies – one’s mark on the left and the other’s on the right,”_ Magnus has explained dozens of times throughout the centuries. _“However, if the Angel wills that a Nephilim be fated to a Downworlder, the mark appears sooner, as a warning to both that if they choose this path, it will not be easy. You will notice that these pale white lines may remain exactly as they are for a long time. Then, shortly before you meet your fated, the soul mark will begin to glow. This is a sign that you should pay attention to any Nephilim you might meet. Once you have met your fated, it will glow gold and after both of you acknowledge that you share the mark, it will glow white. From here you will have a choice. You will either be able to choose to pursue a life with your fated, in which case your soul marks will fade to black as the Nephilim’s do, or you can choose to go your separate ways and the marks will vanish altogether. It is important to know that this mark does not bind you to anything unless you want it to, that there is no limit to the time you may take to consider your decision, but that whatever you decide, whether for or against, it is final and there is no way to reverse it. This choice is a gift not granted to ordinary Nephilim soul pairs, so do not take it lightly.”_

Magnus’ words sound hollow and glib now that he’s actually faced with the reality of them. A gift indeed. More like being stuck between a Shadowhunter and an Alec-less place. He can’t put his finger on what it is about the Shadowhunter boy that fascinates him so much, though the fact that he’s one of the most gorgeous people Magnus has ever encountered definitely doesn’t hurt.

He supposes it’s his thing with the cats.

In all his years, he’s never once owned a cat that was not plucked, cold and shivering, from a gutter or alleyway or found abandoned and starving in an apartment that an unfeeling family had since vacated. Magnus brings them home, heals them, shows them the good life, loves them. And, if he’s honest, it’s not just cats. His drive to heal and fix is the reason his home is always open to any Downworlder in need, why there are a half a dozen Warlocks in his living room right at this moment.

So many things in the world need repairing and Magnus, though unapologetically prone to his bouts of hedonism and selfishness, enjoys being a part of repairing them.

Not that Alec needs repairing though. He’s not broken, just convinced that he’s invisible. His shy garbled introduction, the surprised but pleased smile he gets every time Magnus flirts with him, the entire disaster with the memory demon and how he refuses to publicly acknowledge who he really is and what he really feels – all of it points to deep-seated insecurity and certainty that hiding is the best way to eke out an existence. Seeing him with the other Shadowhunters, it makes sense. Between Jace’s arrogant but effortless charm, Isabelle’s beauty and vivacious personality and even Clary’s naïve vulnerability, it’s easy to see how Alec gets overlooked. How he allows himself to be overlooked because he thinks it’s the norm.

What Alec needs is for someone to see him – to truly make the effort to dig through all his unnecessary layers of protection and to show him that it’s okay to be visible. That it’s okay to be acknowledged and noticed and loved for who he is and what he does. And since it seems like no one else is looking, Magnus decides that, soulmate or not, it might be up to him.

As much as Magnus could stay up (and indeed, _wants_ to stay up) pondering Alec all night, he realises that he’s used a lot of magic and he needs sleep if he's to have any hope of strengthening his wards tomorrow. He pulls up his covers and glances at the dull golden glow beneath the grey of his bedding. Chairman Meow is on the pillow next to him, cleaning his face.

“Young man, if I ever find you talking to any Shadowhunter cats, you have no idea how grounded you’ll be.”

The cat pauses in the middle of licking his paw to fix Magnus with a withering glare and the Warlock chuckles as he turns over to sleep.

Between Valentine and this new self-imposed mission, Magnus realises that this is going to be a long century.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the love! x

Alec doesn’t want to get out of bed.

It’s not that he’s particularly tired or comfortable or any combination of the two. It’s dread. His mother sent him a fire message last night telling him that she would be returning from Idris and Alec could practically feel the anger and disappointment bleeding through the neatly written words on the charred parchment. All of their stupid, careless adventures are about to catch up with them and Alec doesn’t know if he has the energy or the strength to face it.

Not after the summoning ritual. Not after the horror of revealing to Jace that he’s the person Alec loves most in this world. Not with Magnus Bane’s wicked flirting and shy smile playing over and over in his mind on repeat, interspersed here and there with his gentle reassurance.

_‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Alec.’_

His mark has been glowing gold since that night and as much as Alec tries to tell himself that it doesn’t mean anything, the memory of the light pouring from the tear on Magnus’ knee, the way it danced across his face, catching stray flecks of glitter and sparkling off of his jewellery, the way the warm light made the Warlock’s dark eyes blaze with barely contained fire… he knows that there’s more to it than just coincidence. If Alec and Magnus faced each other, his mark would mirror the Warlock’s exactly, he’s certain of it.

The thought is both elating and terrifying.

He’s spared gathering the motivation to get up by voices further down the corridor.

Clary and Jace.

Nothing good ever comes of conversations between Clary and Jace.

He readjusts the bandage around his right knee, making sure that every spec of light is dampened before swinging his legs off of the bed. The bandages are a lot more restrictive than his knee support, but with his support in the laundry, this will have to do. It’s far better than anyone catching a glimpse of his mark anyway.

As he nears Clary’s room and their words become clearer, Alec’s bad feeling about their conversation worsens. He catches the words ‘Mortal Cup’ and ‘my mother’ and that’s enough to tell him that this is going to be another conversation that leads Jace to stupid decisions. And that’s something that, with his parents on their way, he simply can’t afford.

He sometimes hates how good he is at predicting outcomes.

Clary is worked up because she caught a glimpse of Valentine and her unconscious mother through the portal shard she’s been wearing since she arrived. And it only gets worse the more Alec hears. The fact that Valentine can speak to her through it and that he knows Clary’s name sends a sharp chill up his spine, like the unexpected touch of cold metal.

He doesn’t think he’s being unreasonable when, a few moments later, he asks Clary if she can remember anything useful, or that there’s anything wrong with the serious and no-nonsense tone he uses as he does, but Jace tells him to lighten up all the same. Of course he does – Alec forgets that he’s not allowed to speak Clary in anything but gentle soothing tones because she’s a delicate flower that might break if confronted the least bit with what a liability she is.

“I’m trying to get something useful we can use out of this,” he tells Jace. It’s still difficult to look him in the eye. “Clary, what did you see exactly?”

“Valentine has my mother,” she practically snarls. “That’s what I saw.”

_By the angel! This girl._

“Emotions are nothing but a distraction. You’re ruled by them. We’re taught to control them.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

Her words hit him like a slap. He knows that he hasn’t been able to separate his emotions from his judgement. That’s how he messed up the summoning ritual. That’s how he had nearly killed Jace.

“It is my job to protect the institute. If Valentine can see in, that’s a door I have to shut.” Alec hears the anger seeping into his words and fights to keep it under control. He reaches out a hand and in a more even tone says, “Now, let me take a look at that thing.”

He’s riled himself up enough to actually look at Jace now and as their eyes lock, Alec dares him not to give him the necklace. To Alec’s surprise, after a hesitant glance at Clary, Jace drops the weighty pendant into Alec’s outstretched palm.

“Now it’s in the proper hands,” he says, striding out of the room as he ignores their protests.

Alec is sick of taking stupid risks. He’s sick of screwing around with things that shouldn’t be screwed around with. He’s sick of defying Clave orders. He’s sick of everything revolving around Clary Fray-Fairchild-Morgenstern whatever.

He feels Clary’s furious eyes burn into the back of his neck as he places the portal shard in the safe, but Alec doesn’t care. He knows that he’s doing the right thing and if Jace and Clary don’t agree, it’s their problem, not his. He’s supposed to be the responsible one and he’s the one who will have to take the flack if anything goes wrong. Their idealistic plan to use the shard to rescue Clary’s mom is naïve and dangerous and there’s no way he’s going to let it happen.

With this latest crisis averted, Alec heads for the library. He needs to speak to Hodge. He needs to prepare for his parents’ arrival.

And, more than anything, he needs to stop thinking about Magnus Bane.

***

Magnus thought that having his space to himself again would take the edge off of the chaos of the past few days, but the sudden quiet of his apartment only gives him more time to think. And thinking, at least when it’s about Alec, is dangerous, because thinking about Alec leads Magnus to think about his phone where Alec’s sister, Isabelle, had typed in Alec’s number with a wicked wink.

He’s decided that he and Isabelle are going to become very good friends.

Still, calling Alec would likely lead to… more (if his imagination got its way in any case) and Magnus isn’t sure he’s ready for that.

He should be making preparations – after all, Valentine is rallying an army to hunt down his kind at this very moment – but as those thoughts fill him with an icy terror, it becomes far easier to sit on his balcony with a drink in his hand, allowing his mind to wander to thoughts of Alec.

His new view is breathtaking. The crafted structure and impressive scale of the Brooklyn Bridge and the vast skyline behind it fill Magnus with an overwhelming sense of being part of something far bigger than he’ll ever understand, and there’s a softness to the hazy blue sky and white sunlight skittering across the surface of the river that cuts through the harshness of the imposing infrastructure. Even this reminds him of Alec: tall (god, _so_ tall), beautiful, poised, structured, reliable and unbending. And beneath it all, buried so deeply within him that Magnus is sure Alec doesn’t want anyone to know about it, is the blazing light that Magnus finds so impossible resist.

He knows that he’s playing with fire and, though he doesn’t relish the idea, he fully understands that he might burn.

With the appearance of the soul mark, part of the lure of getting back Camille’s necklace from the Shadowhunters was the idea that it might remind him of how stupid relationships are. How they’re dangerous. How they change you too much in too short a span of time. Magnus promised himself he would never let that happen again and for almost a hundred years he’s kept his word. Faced with this new choice, he thought that holding onto Camille’s necklace might remind him of the pain that, destiny or not, he was sure he wasn’t strong enough to go through again.

But he gave it away mere hours after having it back in his grasp, and though he had given it as payment for the Shadowhunters’ help in saving the lives of his Warlock kin, he has to admit that the idea that Isabelle Lightwood now wears a necklace that detects demon activity is a comforting one because it might help keep Alec safe.

_So much for that reminder, then._

Magnus’ eyes dart to his phone for what must be the hundredth time that morning and he finds that he’s no longer able to resist the temptation. At least calling Alec will stop him daydreaming about Alec for a while.

At the very least it will give him new things to think about him later.

He’s about to press the call button when he realises how quiet his apartment is. The last thing he wants is for Alec to think that he’s been sitting around all day doing nothing except debating whether or not to call (as true as that might be). He needs music, and he spends a good few minutes trying to find something that will help show Alec his impeccable taste, but that doesn’t make it look like he’s trying too hard. It’s a very fine line. Finally settling on something by Bach, he presses the call button as the sounds of a harpsichord and soaring violin fill his living room, his wildly beating heart adding an impromptu percussion line while he waits anxiously for Alec to answer.

He’s just told himself off for smoothing back his hair _(he can’t see you, Magnus, get a grip)_ when the dialling tone disappears and is replaced with an almost exasperated, _“Hello. Who is this?”_

“Alexander, hi. It’s Magnus. We met the other day, you know, with the demon?”

In a sudden panic, Magnus realises that he hasn’t thought as far as what he’s actually calling Alec about.

_“Uh, yeah. Yeah, hey, what’s up?”_

In the end, it’s the sound of Alec’s voice – gravelly, serious, but with a faint friendliness to it that makes Magnus think that he might be pleased to hear from him after all – that helps him make up his mind.

“I was just thinking it was really nice getting to know you. You seem…”

 _Like you might be my soulmate_ , his mind unhelpfully supplies.

“…sympathetic,” he finishes, though he’s not entirely sure this is better. He realises suddenly that he’s holding a book that he doesn’t even remember picking up. God, how nervous was he? Making his way over to his bookcase, he decides that while he has adrenaline on his side, he might as well throw all caution to the wind and asks, “Would you like to out for a drink sometime?”

Alec hesitates for a moment and for two agonising, heart-stopping seconds Magnus wonders why he’s like this. Why he keeps following his impulses instead of playing the long game.

 _“That sounds fun,”_ Alec replies after an eternity and Magnus’ heart kicks back to life at twice the speed. _“Um, when?”_

“How about right now?”

The thought of seeing Alec again, of being alone with him long enough to have a proper conversation, fills Magnus with such an impossible excitement that it’s difficult to imagine that just days ago, he was dead set against the idea of dating a Shadowhunter.

 _“Um,”_ he begins and something in his tone tells Magnus that the drinks won’t be happening. _“You know now’s not really a good time for me. Another time. Gotta go.”_

After which Alec promptly hangs up.

Magnus looks at his phone in momentary confusion. While the abruptness of the end of the call is throwing him slightly, his hope is stirred by the fact that Alec didn’t say _‘no’_ , just _‘not now’_.

“Playing hard to get?” he mutters to himself, deciding not to give into the petty fear clawing at the edges of his mind. “I love a challenge.”

And now that it’s a challenge, Magnus knows there’s no turning back. He’s invested.

For the first time in almost a century, Magnus is breaking his rules.

***

If he hadn’t sworn to Jace that he would protect her, Alec would have let Clary go. She’s a grown woman, clearly capable of, and indeed insistent on, making her own decisions, even if they are awful. She shouldn’t need a babysitter watching her like a hawk every minute of every day. But because he has sworn to Jace that he would protect her, Alec is following her down the streets of New York, desperate for a glimpse of her ridiculous ginger head, wondering bitterly how this ever became his life.

His heart is racing and he doesn’t know if it’s the running after Clary, the fact that she managed to escape in the first place, or just leftover panic and surprise from the call from Magnus he hasn’t had time to process yet. Though it had all happened so fast and was cut short by the sudden disappearance of Clary, the facts were that Magnus had definitely called him, said it was _‘nice getting to know him’_ and had invited him out for a drink. Alec has never been asked out before and the fact that it was by the gorgeous High Warlock of Brooklyn (even though Alec has no idea why because he’s sure he sounded like a complete idiot over the phone) fills him with a giddy pride he didn’t think that he was capable of feeling.

He had ended the call on autopilot, more worried about the sudden lack of a certain annoying redhead than choosing his words carefully, and he cringes at how surly and annoyed he must have sounded. Alec knows that guys like Magnus don’t wait around for long and so is pretty certain that he’s fucked up the possibility of being asked out a second time, soul marks or not.

Does he even _want_ to be asked out again? Isn’t the thought of his family discovering this connection to the Downworld his worst fear?

A phone rings, tearing him from his thoughts and he catches a glimpse of a glamoured Clary desperately fumbling in her bag while Mundanes around her check their pockets in confusion.

He decides to pre-absolve himself of her inevitable death. If she gets herself killed, it’s her own damn fault, and in all honesty, it would be doing him a favour. He really doesn’t have the energy to deal with her bullshit today.

“Why’d you run out?” he asks as he nears her, enjoying her start of surprise. “And what’s the point of an Invisibility Rune if you don’t silence your phone? It was childish, sneaking out like that.”

Predictably, she ignores him in favour of answering her phone.

“Simon, hey,” she says, stepping away from Alec, and Alec rolls his eyes. While Simon doesn’t annoy him as much as Clary does, it’s a very close thing.

Alec makes a point to stand right next to her as she talks, hoping that the knowledge that he’s eavesdropping on their conversation will make her cut the call short. Clary, of course, doesn’t subscribe to this way of thinking and the longer her conversation with the Mundane continues, the more he hates where it’s going. All he wants is to get back to the Institute where he knows that for the most part, he can keep Clary from causing any more trouble.

He doesn’t appreciate her throwing a hand up to tell him to wait when he tries to hurry their conversation along, and when he hears Simon’s voice on the other line excitedly announce that he’ll be joining them he really doesn’t appreciate the idea of having to make sure that he keeps not only Clary but also the Mundy alive.

She’s far more stubborn than he is, though, and he supposes that’s half the problem. It’s certainly the reason he’s been going along with Jace’s stupid ideas for years. And while Alec knows he folds too easily, he reasons that if they don’t go past Clary’s old apartment, he’ll never hear the end of it and she’ll just find another way to escape him.

“Why do you always look so miserable?” she asks completely out of the blue in that biting tone that makes Alec’s blood boil.

“I don’t,” he says. The scowl on his face is probably not helping his argument.

“You do,” Clary retorts. “I mean, it must be hard being in love with Jace when he’s straight and everything.”

Alec feels his blood freeze in his veins. Was it _that_ obvious? Did it show on his face _that_ easily?

“Excuse me? What?” He’s trying for indignation, but from the look on Clary’s face, she’s not convinced.

“What’s the big deal?” she asks as if she’s surprised that Alec is offended by her asking. “I was there when that memory came out. Busted, no?”

Even though he’s been threatening to since she slipped away from him at the Institute, promise to Jace or not, Alec decides he’s going to leave her right here. He’s going to just walk away, with no explanation and let whatever happens happen.

“We’re _Parabatai_.”

“Come on, Alec, just say it. You’ll feel better. You’re in love with Jace.”

There’s something in the earnest way she’s looking up at him now that makes Alec think that maybe she’s not trying to be smug. Maybe in her own careless way she thinks that she’s actually helping. That she’s being kind. It both disarms him and annoys him twice as much.

“Forget it,” he snipes back, wanting nothing more than for this conversation to be over. “ _You’re_ in love with Jace.”

“Oh okay, the middle school comeback? Nice,” she says sarcastically and he rolls his eyes for what must be the millionth time that day. “Alec we have a real problem to solve, okay? Come with me.”

 _Jesus fuck_ – as if she wasn’t the one bringing up all the Jace shit in the first place.

He’s proved right (as always) when the ‘Real Problem’ and Clary’s ‘Solution’ to the ‘Real Problem’ end with her and her Mundane friend being kidnapped and he’s too worried out of his mind to even enjoy it.

After what felt like a lifetime of being subjected to their nauseating friendship up close (including one truly revolting story about their childhood engagement), putting up with them living out their teenage mystery novel fantasies, leaving them in Clary’s old room to go off and investigate a suspicious sound and telling the two of them in no uncertain terms to stay put, Alec watches as a several men shove her and the mundane, handcuffed, into the back of a car leaving Alec behind, furious and terrified.

What the hell is he supposed to tell Jace?

He pulls out his phone and briefly considers calling him, but the thought of the furious words that Jace might throw at him because of his carelessness stops him. It’s not the fact that they’ll be said in a biting tone, or even that Jace will be the one saying them. It’s the fact that they’d be right; Alec _had_ let him down.

And he would have to sit with those words ringing in his ears until Jace arrived.

Knowing how much Jace hates typing on his phone, Alec decides to text him, figuring that at least this way there was a chance that he would choose not to respond. He agonises over the wording, not wanting to sound too apologetic (this was all Clary’s fault after all), but wanting Jace to see that he is at least in part contrite.

**_J – Emergency. Clary snuck out of institute. Pls get here soon. At her old apartment now. Sorry. – A_ **

He leaves the part about her being kidnapped out of it. The words ‘emergency’ and ‘Clary’ right next to each other will get Jace’s attention enough – there’s no need to have him arrive all guns blazing. Satisfied with his message, he hits send and waits.

After several unsuccessful attempts at tracking Clary using a scarf he finds in her messenger bag, Alec paces up and down Clary’s hollowed-out apartment, heart hammering. He wonders how he’s going to survive this. If Isabelle arrives with Jace it might not be so bad, she might soften the blows of Jace’s words, but he knows that she’s not going to be impressed with him either.

And for what? It wasn’t like he _wasn’t_ trying to protect them. If it was up to him they wouldn’t have been there in the first place. If she hadn’t snuck out while he was distracted by his call with Magnus…

_Magnus._

He’s dialling before he even realises what he’s doing.

 _“Alexander.”_ Magnus’ elegant voice purrs through the tinny speaker of his phone and Alec wonders for a second how he does it. How he makes even talking on the phone sound beautiful. _“To what do I owe the pleasure of your conversation? Are you perchance calling to rescheduling our date?”_

God, so he _didn’t_ fuck it all up and Magnus even used the word ‘date’. Struggling to focus, Alec takes a deep breath.

“Hey, Magnus. Um, I’m not sure why I called you or if you’re even… I mean I know that you do, just you normally need payment and I don’t know what you charge and I really need –“

Words are falling out of his mouth quicker than he can process them, tripping him up and rendering him an inarticulate mess.

 _“Hey, hey. It’s alright, lovely, just calm down,”_ says Magnus soothingly. _“Now, I’m struggling to understand what you’re saying. Are you asking for my help with something?”_

“Yeah,” says Alec, slightly disarmed by Magnus’ use of _‘lovely’_. “Uh, I um… well earlier when we, you know, when you called me…”

Why is it always so difficult to talk to him?

_“Alexander, I might be going out on a limb here, but this doesn’t perhaps have anything to do with a confusing mark you’ve got above your knee, does it?”_

Alec’s heart stops.

There’s no way he’d seen it that night, right?

“How do you know about my mark?”

 _“Just an educated guess based on the evidence I have,”_ Magnus replies and he can almost hear the shrug in his voice. _“That is what you’re calling about, right?”_

“Um, no, actually. Clary’s missing. She snuck out of the institute to find something in her old apartment and she’s been taken by… I don’t know, that’s what I wanted to ask you. Do you have any idea who might have taken her? Any Downworlder groups that might specifically be out to get her? They pushed her into the back of a black sedan.”

 _“Almost half the Downworlders want her as bargaining power in case the Clave is unsuccessful in stopping Valentine. Barring Vampires as they wouldn’t be out in the daylight, I honestly have no idea,”_ says Magnus, his tone suddenly deathly serious. _“Have you tried tracking her with your rune? Do you have something of hers nearby?”_

“I’ve got a scarf of hers from her bag that I’m trying to use, but it’s not working. I don’t think… Jace is the better tracker. I mostly just help. Parabatais.”

 _“I see,”_ says Magnus. _“Alexander, do you trust me enough to try something new?”_

“Yes,” Alec replies with a swiftness and certainty that takes even him by surprise. “What did you have in mind?”

_“Alright, firstly, I need you to make sure you’re sitting down.”_

Alec obediently makes his way over to the fire-damaged bed and sits tentatively on the least charred patch he can find, confirming with Magnus once he’s done so.

_“Wonderful. Now, I need you to use your Stele to trace the tracking rune again. Once you’ve done that, hold the scarf against your chest while you place your other hand over your mark.”_

Soul Magic. That’s what Magnus is planning on doing. Suddenly his mother’s voice is ringing in his ears. _‘Yes, mixing angelic power with magic would be unpredictable and dangerous, but there’s nothing to fear, Alec. It’s just a story after all. None of it’s real.’_

It feels pretty real now.

“Magnus, I don’t know if I can do this,” he says.

 _“You’re in complete control here, Alexander,”_ says Magnus. _“I know that this kind of magic can be intimidating if you’ve never encountered it. Hell, even I’m terrified right now, so if you’re unsure, we can stop.”_

Alec takes a moment to breathe, and thinks about Jace, thinks about how relieved he’ll be if Alec can tell him where Clary is before he gets here.

“Will it help us find her?” he asks.

_“This is the most powerful tracking ritual I know of.”_

“And is it safe?” He feels like a child for even asking.

 _“I’ll make sure of it,”_ Magnus replies gently.

Alec distrusts everyone he first meets, as a rule, so he has no idea why Magnus is the exception. He supposes, cynically, that sharing a soul bond might take care of more than a few of the initial misgivings.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Alec makes his decision.

“The tracking rune, you say?” he says, switching his phone to speaker and removing his Stele from his belt. The ritual is the strangest that Alec has ever carried out and though he knows that no one is watching him, he feels self-conscious as he sits with the scarf pressed to his chest and a palm firmly pressed over his soul mark.

 _“Ready?”_ asks Magnus.

“As I’ll ever be,” Alec replies.

 _“I’ll be right beside you all the way, Alexander,”_ says Magnus.

“What does that even mean?”

_“You’ll see.”_

It’s incredibly disorientating. One minute he’s sitting on the burned bed in Clary’s room, and the next he’s standing in a swirling mass of colour, almost as if he were portalling in slow motion, and just as he becomes convinced that it can’t get any weirder, he realises that Magnus is beside him. When Alec reaches out to feel if he’s really there, his fingers are met with solid matter. With Magnus less than a foot away, Alec suddenly feels like he can take on anything. As if as long as Magnus is here, he’s invincible.

At the look of pleasant surprise on Alec’s face, Magnus smiles and reaches out a hand for Alec to take and as Alec grasps it, he becomes fascinated and slightly disturbed at how, despite there being a definite pressure as if someone is holding his hand. It isn’t warm to the touch. In fact, all the detailed sensations that Alec would assume came with the act of hand-holding are missing, as if Magnus is somehow with him and not with him at the same time. Like a shadow somehow come to life.

What there is, however, is a faint hum of electricity – the same electricity he felt when he first walked by Magnus. It’s less like the sharp, jarring jolts he feels when he and Jace accidentally touch, and more like a constant current flowing through both of them, drawing them irresistibly closer together. It’s magic, he’s sure of it, and though he knows that thought should terrify him more, Alec can’t remember feeling anything more lovely.

“Alexander, listen to me. You need to keep hold of my hand and think about Clary,” says Magnus. “Whatever you do, don’t let go until we’re certain we’ve found her.”

Alec looks down to see his ringed thumb tracing circles just below his knuckles and marvels how, though he can see the slight indentation of his skin where Magnus’ thumb is trailing over it, he can only feel the ghost of a sensation there. The whole situation is far more terrifying and unfamiliar than any other Alec has ever faced and almost as if Magnus senses this, his next words are a gentle encouragement.

“You have no need to worry. I’ll be with you the whole time, and even if I wasn’t, you’re far braver than you give yourself credit for, Alexander Lightwood. Now, are you ready?”

With one last deep intake of breath, Alec nods and at his cue, Magnus begins swirling magic in his free hand.

It suddenly feels as if the two of them are being thrown headfirst into a whirlpool. Visions of the city race before their eyes as if they were running through it at unimaginable speeds, speeds surely not physically possible by humans. The colours are wrong too. Purple buildings, red cabs and blue people rush past them allowing Alec and Magnus only the most fleeting of impressions. Above them, the sky is vivid green. It’s different and beautiful and thrilling and Alec can’t get enough of it.

Best of all, Alec is sharing it with Magnus, whose normally expertly styled hair is being pushed back by the powerful slipstream and who is beaming at him despite the onslaught of the wind.

And then, just as it feels like they’re about to find what they’re looking for, just as they’re so close that they can almost see the flaming red of Clary’s hair, they run headlong into something invisible, something solid and impenetrable. Without warning, they’re thrown violently back and Alec grasps at the air, desperate for an anchor of some kind, but his efforts are rewarded with nothing but fistfuls of wind. Alec knows he’s about to hit the ground when the swirls of colour begin to vanish, taking with them the unfamiliar, yet comforting pressure of Magnus’ hand in his.

A moment later, with a jolt, Alec is back in Clary’s old apartment, clutching her scarf in a white fist, sweat pouring down his face and drenching his shirt.

“What just happened?” asks Alec, panting with the exertion of the ritual. “I thought you said we could find her.”

 _“She must be over water,”_ says Magnus, his voice sounding just as weak over the phone. _“It’s the only explanation. This ritual is powerful, Alexander, but even so there are certain laws of the universe that can’t be overcome.”_

“So what, it would never have worked?” Alec can feel the panic rising like bile in his throat. He had broken one of the most sacred unwritten laws of the Clave, that of never mixing angelic power with Downworlder magic, and it hadn’t even worked. He had nothing to show for his complete disregard for everything his family believed in, everything his mother and father had taught him. “That’s… that’s just perfect, Magnus, really just fucking amazing. Thanks so much for mentioning that.”

He can’t bite back on the sarcasm that pours into every syllable and knows he must sound like a petulant child, but he can’t help it. He’s furious, but not with Clary or Simon or Jace or even Magnus.

He’s furious with himself.

 _“You know just as well as I do that it’s impossible to track over water,”_ says Magnus, his tone suddenly icy and dangerous. _“And I would also remind you, Shadowhunter, that it was_ you _who called_ me _for help.”_

“Yeah?” says Alec, venom climbing into his throat and poisoning his words. In savage frustration, he picks up his phone from the bed next to him. “My mistake.”

He hangs up before Magnus can say anything, angrily throwing his phone onto the ruined bed and scrubs a hand down his face. That’s it. There’s nothing he can do now to fix this except wait for Jace to show up.

To add insult to the injury, when Alec looks down at his legs, he notices that pinpricks of white light – witchlight _–_ from his mark are shining through the fabric of his bandages and clothes.

He instantly realises what it means.

Alec and Magnus are fated to each other, and now they both know for sure.

***

The worst of it is that not wanting to impair his sight as he desperately searches for Clary, Magnus has purposefully not fixed himself a drink in the hours since the disastrous ritual and phone call.

He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so fiercely protective over the Shadowhunter girl, though he reasons that watching her grow up and playing a large role in how confusing her transition into the Shadoworld has been, likely makes up part of it. Whatever the reasons, the idea of her scared and in over her head with something that she wasn’t emotionally, physically or even spiritually prepared for fills him with a dread and horror that pushes him to try tracking spell after tracking spell, determined to ensure her safety.

When he finally does manage to catch sight of her, it’s to see that she is with Alec and the other Shadowhunters. Lucian Graymark is there too.

 _Good, she’ll be safe now,_ Magnus reasons with himself. _Lucian loves her like a daughter; he won’t let anything happen to her._

Tired and satisfied that Clary is in good hands, he throws himself into a shower, throws on the most comfortable clothes he owns, ensures that his hair and makeup are flawless (he's so used to visitors at all hours of the night, it's rare that he doesn't wear makeup around his apartment) and finally makes his way over to his mini-bar to fix himself the drink he’s been craving since the awful phone call.

He was thrilled when he saw Alec’s name flash up on his phone, thrilled when he had accidentally confirmed his soul mark, thrilled when Alec allowed him to try the tracking ritual he had seen so many soul pairs do over the years. He should be elated. The dazzling white of his mark means that now that they both know everything, they can make their decision.

But he’s worried. He’s worried that Alec’s current frustration and confusion might lead to him make a hasty decision to rid himself of the bond. Even though Magnus is still furious with Alec, the idea of losing his connection with him, of never again sharing what they had shared earlier, filled Magnus with a fear he didn’t even know it was possible to feel.

The thought that he might never be able to give up Alexander Lightwood both excites and terrifies him.

He’s so lost in thoughts of Alec that he doesn’t realise how long he’s been sitting in the same position in his armchair until he hears the frantic knocking on his front door. His barely-touched scotch hangs loosely in his hand, threatening to spill onto his expensive rug. Jolting back to reality, he sets the glass down, strides towards the door and is horrified to discover Lucian, torn and bloodied, held up by Clary and another boy who Magnus assumes is the Mundane friend he’s heard nearly all of the other Shadowhunters complain about, the one Camille kidnapped.

“What happened?” he yells, snapping his fingers and opening his front doors wide enough to let them all in before immediately throwing open the doors that separate his living room from the entry hall.

“He was attacked,” explains the Mundane boy.

“He needs a Warlock,” says Clary, frantically. “He needs you.”

Magnus grabs the sheet he’s been staring at for days, too lazy to pack it away, and drapes it over his couch.

“Put him here.”

The two immediately obey, laying Lucian gingerly down onto the sheet. Clary is deathly pale while the Mundane boy looks as though he’s been to hell and back and Magnus finds that his heart pangs pityingly for them. As short a time as a few weeks ago, their lives had probably been so blissfully simple. No demons. No mortal cup. Just their ordinary mundane lives. Their faces are confused and terrified and so young that Magnus finds himself wishing that neither of them had ended up tangled up in all of this. This shouldn’t have to be their world.

He feels another pang as his eyes fall on the injured Lycanthrope on his couch. Lucian is desperately week and shouting incoherently in a way that tells Magnus immediately that this is more than a few simple battle wounds, and he grimaces as Clary confirms his worst fears.

Alpha bites are a bitch to heal.

As if emphasising the point, Lucian’s body suddenly lurches evilly. It quickly becomes apparent that if he’s to have any hopes of healing Lucian with magic, he first needs to calm him down. He needs Seelie dogwood, and after rushing to his store cupboard, instructing the others to hold him down in his brief absence, Magnus returns with the small container of bark, placing a small piece of it between the werewolf’s teeth.

“It’ll take a few moments to take effect,” he explains to the two worried teenagers.

“What’s happening to him?” Clary asks.

“Random werewolf transformation,” explains Magnus. “It’s a side-effect of the poison in the Alpha bite.”

Lucian continues to struggle for a while, but eventually, his breathing evens out and Magnus has enough time to roughly patch up most of his wounds. Once this is done, he sprints to the kitchen to gather the ingredients he needs for the antidote. While the dogwood will slow the spread of the poison for a while, it won’t stop it. Lucian needs far more magic than one a tiny bit of tree. Magnus explains this to the teenagers as he sets down his cauldron and potion ingredients and isn’t surprised when Clary immediately volunteers to collect the ingredients that Magnus mentioned he still requires.

“No, you stay here,” he says, rushing to his balcony to collect herbs from his hanging garden. “Luke will need you if he wakes up.”

“ _When_ he wakes up,” Clary bites back and Magnus can’t help but smile. Headstrong and recklessly optimistic. She really is Jocelyn’s daughter.

“I’ll go,” says the Mundane boy (Simon, as Magnus has since learned), and his words are echoed a second later by a different voice. Confused, Magnus peeks around his door and sees another Shadowhunter (the wrong Shadowhunter) striding uninvited into his apartment.

As if this day hasn’t been enough of a train wreck without being forced to confront face-to-face the bewildering mixture of cocky asshole and humourless Shadowhunter that was Alec’s crush. On the bright side, if the gashes across his face are anything to go by, at least something has taken him down a few pegs.

“Jace,” says Magnus in a mock-delighted tone, roughly prodding the Shadowhunter’s bloodied face to get a better look at his injuries. “What happened to you?”

“Luke’s car may have found its way into a pole when I was stashing it,” he replies, sounding annoyed at having to explain himself. “I don’t do mundane driving.”

Magnus fights to hold back his amusement at this, but it’s a near-impossible thing.

And then an argument (that essentially boils down to ‘I’m bigger and tougher so I should get the ingredients’) breaks out between Simon and Jace and to save himself the migraine he can already feel forming, Magnus loudly cuts across them with the list of what he needs. He’s had more than enough Shadowhunter snark for one day. Though ultimately the posturing continues, as they’ve now both decided to go get the ingredients, it will at least be happening away from his apartment.

Magnus feels exhausted just thinking about the amount of magic healing Lucian is going to take and knows that he will need Shadowhunter energy to have any hope of succeeding. And while he’s sure that either Clary’s or Jace’s would do just fine, he knows that their energy won’t be half as powerful as the energy he wants most.

“One more thing,” he adds before they make their way to his front door.

Even if they haven’t yet dealt with what happened earlier, there’s no one that Magnus wants with him more right now than Alexander Lightwood.

***

Alec almost can’t control his rage when Isabelle tells him that his parents are arranging marriages for both of them.

It’s true that he’s never been romantic, but then, maybe that’s because he knows that he can never really be romantic. At least not the way he wants to be – in love out in the open with someone he actually finds attractive. In any case, even if he is forced to push down who he really is to build a life with a respectable Shadowhunter girl, he still thinks that it should be his choice. That, at the very least, he should have a say in who he spends the rest of his life with.

What finally sends him over the edge though is that his parents want Isabelle, and not him, to be the diplomat to the Seelies.

This is what stings more than anything. He can get his head around the fact that he’s going to have to marry a woman soon, even if he was hoping for it to only happen in his late twenties. What he can’t handle is having his responsibilities taken away from him.

He’s long since made peace with the fact that he’s not as strong a fighter as Jace and that he doesn’t have Isabelle’s quick strategic mind. In fact, unless he has his bow and quiver (and it’s not always viable as they’re sometimes too cumbersome to take along on missions) Alec doesn’t feel he’s much use at all.

The one thing he knows he can do is diplomacy. He knows that he can talk a fight down when necessary, can phrase things in such a way as to foster constructive conversation between the Clave and the Downworld. He has dedicated years of his life to learning the customs of every Downworlder pack, clan and coven. He knows and understands their cultures, their challenges, their attitudes towards the Clave.

Alec has been working his whole life to do this job and the only reason it’s being taken away from him is that his parents don’t think that he’s strong enough to take it on.

So fuck it. Fuck all of it. He’s not going to carry on pouring his heart and soul into being the perfect Shadowhunter, the perfect leader, the perfect son. Not if it means having his work treated as a nice gesture rather than years and years of his time and effort. Not if it means being constantly overlooked and forgotten.

As he storms angrily out of the Institute, only just resisting the urge to turn around and flip it the bird, he finds himself thinking about his soul mark and about how Magnus is the one person in the world who upon first meeting him, treated him as if he was the most important person in the room. He’s done nothing to make Magnus look at him and yet, Magnus looks. Almost from the first moment they met, before there was any way he could have been sure that they shared soul marks, Magnus seems to have singled him out. That first night, he could practically feel Magnus’ eyes on him whenever the Warlock thought that he wasn’t looking, and though at the time it had been strange and slightly intimidating, he realises now how much he craves that.

It makes him regret the phone call so much more. He can’t believe how immature he was and cringes at the memory of his childish words. It wasn’t even worth it.

In the end, Jace was angry, but it wasn’t any angrier than he usually got, and once Simon could give them an idea of where they were, they found Clary pretty quickly. There was no need for Alec to be as awful as he was to Magnus and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Magnus decided there and then to never speak to him again. He would have completely understood if Magnus decided that the whole soulmate thing wasn’t worth having to deal with Alec’s bullshit.

But Jace said that Magnus specifically asked for him, and whether or not that’s to yell at him and tell him that he’s an asshat, at least he doesn’t hate Alec enough to never want to see him again.

Alec climbs the narrow flight of stairs towards Magnus’ apartment, heart hammering wildly as he hears Magnus’ frantic voice shouting instructions. The ground beneath him is shaking violently and he can hear the sound of surging magic coming from beyond the door. As he bursts into the living room, he sees Magnus throwing the last of his energy into healing the injured man on his couch and Alec is filled with a powerful rush of concern that catches him off guard, soul marks or not. He strides across the room to kneel beside Magnus, catching him just as it looks like he’s about to collapse.

“Help me,” he says, weakly. “I need your strength.”

Magnus slowly raises a hand for Alec to take as if even this small gesture costs him a world of effort. His exhausted eyes are fixed on Alec’s, but there’s no offence or enmity there, just faith in him and a relief that he’s no longer alone.

“Take what you need,” Alec replies. He slips his hand into Magnus’ and the gratefulness and warmth in his smile seem to radiate throughout Alec’s body. If it came to it, Alec knows he would give it all to Magnus, and he wonders if this is because of the soul magic or if it’s more than that. There’s no time to ponder on that thought now. Gently guiding Magnus back up so that he’s crouching over Luke, he places his free hand on the small of Magnus’ back to keep him upright and waits for it to begin.

It’s impossible to miss the moment Magnus starts using his energy. The magic he felt brushing past Magnus that first night and the magic he felt during their tracking ritual is there, but it’s a thousand times more intense. It pours through them, rooting them to the spot and though he knows that physically neither of them are moving, it feels like Magnus is being pulled towards him, as if the more Alec is emptied of himself, the more room Magnus has to fill inside him. He’s only vaguely aware that there are people somewhere in the room trying to do something. All that’s real is him and Magnus – the feeling of their hands gripping tightly, the smoothness of Magnus’ silk shirt underneath his fingertips, the energy flowing between them and, in his mind, and a constant, indefinable stream of encouragement that he knows is from Magnus to him, keeping him going.

Losing his energy is beginning to take its toll on Alec, and though his natural instinct is to pull away, he uses every fibre of his being to force more to Magnus. It’s like trying to push every last bit of air from his lungs, and though his body shakes with the effort of it, he forces himself to push through. He can’t let Magnus down. He _won’t_ let Magnus down.

And then it’s over. As the magic leaves, his whole body feels feather-light and his nerves are tingling with the sudden release of muscles he didn’t even realise he was tensing. He falls backwards slightly and allows Magnus to collapse onto him, completely spent. He doesn’t know much about feelings, having tried to suppress them most of his life, but he knows now that what he feels towards Magnus, this Warlock who is so quick to give his everything to those who need it, is not strictly platonic.

For years he’s been convinced that what he feels for Jace is what it’s like to be in love: all hero-worship and being close enough to reach out but never feel. And while he’s sure that he is in love with Jace, he realises as he holds the exhausted Warlock, filled with a quiet pride and admiration at what he’s just done and what they’ve just shared, that maybe it’s not the only way to be in love with someone.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

Magnus uses the very last of his energy to nod up at him with a thankful smile. “Yeah.”

And then he’s asleep, unable to hold onto consciousness any longer.

Noticing that Alec is about to pick up Magnus up to place him in his bed, and perhaps also noticing his slight reluctance to do so, Clary speaks.

“Maybe…” she says, catching Jace’s eye for a moment as she does, “maybe it’s best that you keep hold of him for a little while, Alec. You know, to help him rebuild his energy.”

“Yeah,” Jace agrees with an inscrutable expression. “He needed your energy to use his magic, but he’ll need some more to replenish it too.”

“So, what, I just stay here in the middle of his living room?” asks Alec. It’s far from comfortable and he doesn’t know if his back will take the awkward angle for long.

“Here, shuffle over to this support,” Clary says, grabbing a few scatter cushions from Magnus’ armchairs and arranging them against an exposed brick column not too far from where he’s sitting with Magnus. Alec gets up enough to shuffle to the column, pulling Magnus’ limp form with him and after positioning Magnus as comfortably as he can Alec wraps his arms around him for support. Exhausted though he is, his heart rate seems to find the energy to triple in speed and he’s certain the sound must be projecting loud enough for the people in the room to hear it. He’s sure that at least the Werewolf can pick up on it, though presently he admittedly has bigger things to worry about. Alec watches as Jace and the Mundane hoist him up from the couch to move him to Magnus’ spare bedroom while Clary perches on the armrest of the chair she had pilfered the cushions from.

“Alec, if you hadn’t gotten here on time, I…” She seems to be measuring each word, as if afraid by misspeaking she’ll set him off and he supposes given the track record of their interactions thus far, it’s fair enough for her to think that way. “I’m just glad that you and Jace are okay now.”

“I didn’t do this for Jace,” he says, and it’s true. He didn’t even do it for Magnus, initially (though this had changed throughout the course of the exchange). Alec’s real reasons for coming were completely selfish. His parents don’t approve of all his and Izzy’s interaction with the Downworld so he defied them by helping a Downworlder save another Downworlder’s life. His parents are determined to strategically marry him off to a Shadowhunter girl to restore the family honour, so he defied them by letting his fated, who was not only a man but also a Downworlder, use his energy. His parents didn’t want him to be a Downworlder diplomat so he helped save the life of a new pack leader.

And while something in him tells him that he should probably feel guilty for thinking about himself so much, all he feels is a deep sense of satisfaction.

“Then I’m glad you did it for you,” she smiles, and for the first time since meeting her, Alec catches the smallest glimpse of what Jace is so obsessed with. She’s still careless and reckless and naïve, but he sees now that it’s all coming from a good heart that is still learning to balance impulse with wisdom. She seems taken aback when Alec actually returns her smile and hastily stands up as if startled. “I, uh, I’d better go see to Luke.”

Jace comes back from moving Luke a few moments later and stares hesitantly at Alec for a moment, as if afraid to approach him. Alec disentangles his arm from around Magnus, offering it to Jace in a gesture of peace and Jace’s face splits into that grin that makes the hair on Alec’s arms tingle as he makes his way over to Alec to grasp it.

“Thank you,” he says. “Look, Alec, I just came to say that I’m –”

“You really don’t have to,” Alec interrupts. “All’s well that ends well and all that.”

“God, I hated that play,” laughs Jace, and after clapping Alec on the shoulder, he excuses himself to help Clary again.

Apart from a brief interruption in the form of Simon crossing through the living room and throwing Alec a tentative wave on his way out, Alec is alone with Magnus for the first time since they killed the Circle Member. It’s strange that though that was only days ago, so much has happened since then that he feels like a completely different person. And even though he’s the one who’s been doing all the changing, he knows he owes it all to the Warlock asleep in his arms.

It’s strange how _right_ it feels, how they seem to fit together like the string of a bow fits into the notch of an arrow. It’s never felt like that with Jace. They’re similar enough, but not like this. Jace is a blade, close enough to the arrow in basic principle and function, but not compatible with the bow. It’s not the epiphany that he expected to receive on the living room floor of the High Warlock of Brooklyn,  but it’s the one that helps him finally accept that, as much as he’s wished for it for years, he and Jace would never work.

He doesn’t know how he and Magnus would work either though. They’re from completely different worlds – Alec from the world of Shadowhunters, of pushing away emotions to effectively carry out the task of protecting the world from demonic activity; Magnus from pretty much every other world, worlds where emotions are worn as a badge of honour and where following the path they choose to carve out for themselves doesn’t set them at odds with society.

This is the kind of situation where Alec craves wise counsel and sound advice, but who would he get it from? From Jace, who impulsively fell in love with the first Shadowhunter girl he met that wasn’t Isabelle? From Isabelle who is so sold on the idea of her own Downworlder soulmate that she doesn’t seem to care that there are carefully maintained traditions and family honour that have to be considered? From Clary or Simon who, though they claim to be experts on love, know nothing of what it means to be a Shadowhunter? He certainly can’t ask his parents or Hodge or anyone from the Clave. His only other option is Magnus himself, but that’s unlikely to result in a completely objective opinion.

No, Alec has to puzzle this out on his own, and it both excites and terrifies him to have such weighty matters to consider.

The soul marks on their legs mean that the Angel ordained this. It’s Raziel’s will that he and Magnus be together. Surely that can’t be against the law of the Clave? If Alec were to pursue this path, would anyone from his world be able to tell him it was wrong if the proof that this wasn’t just his desire was literally branded on his skin?

Alec starts as Magnus stirs in his sleep and curls deeper into his chest, causing a surge of unfamiliar affection to rise up in Alec. He finds it nearly impossible to reconcile the improbably soft and impossibly gentle man in his arms with the centuries-old all-powerful Warlock whom, in just the last few days, Alec had seen kill people, move whole buildings, summon demons, create portals and cure incurable wounds. Could a man that powerful really just be held like this? If he were awake, would he object to being caged in Alec’s arms like this?

The light from the hallway catches traces of glitter on Magnus’ face and Alec is reminded again of that first night. Magnus looked so different then, with tight dark clothes embellished with details designed to draw the eye, every bit of his appearance carefully composed to awe and intrigue. Tonight, his outfit is loose and comfortable and the honey-coloured tips of his hair coupled with the delicate gold lining around his eyes, remind Alec of the warmth and safety of completing his winter reading lists by the light of the fireplace in the library when every other room in the Institute is too cold to bear.

“Beautiful,” Alec breathes out quietly.

He’s suddenly struck by how easy it would be to just kiss Magnus on the forehead and to his horror, now that the temptation is there, he can’t seem to ignore it. Though he sits on the idea for a few moments, it soon grows too insistent to ignore so, gathering all his courage while at the same time screaming to himself that this can only end badly, his lips gently brush the soft sparkling skin just above Magnus’ left eyebrow.

He retracts at lightning speed when he hears footsteps coming down the hallway. It’s Jace.

“I’m heading back to the institute to fill Hodge in,” he says, taking in the sight of Magnus settled comfortably against Alec’s rapidly rising and falling chest. He hopes that Jace is still under the impression that Alec is just trying to help Magnus regain his energy. “You guys going to be okay?”

“Think so,” Alec replies as short as possible, not wanting to disturb Magnus and also not trusting the current steadiness of his voice.

“Alright, I guess I’ll see you around then.”

Alec nods by way of farewell, and as he hears the front door click closed, he can’t believe the narrow call he’s just escaped.

To his dismay, the click of the front door also wakes Magnus.

***

When Magnus begins to come to, it’s to a curious sensation just above his left eyebrow, the sound of approaching footsteps, a furiously hammering rhythm against his cheek, a hushed voice a few feet away and then a deep rumbling bass that buzzes through every nerve in contact with it. He can’t quite fit the pieces together until he remembers that just before he passed out, he had collapsed, absolutely finished, onto Alec and it would appear he hasn’t moved.

He’s grateful for few seconds he has to plan his (kind of) entrance and as he hears the front door shut, he allows his eyes to flutter open.

“Alexander,” he says, smiling blearily up at the Shadowhunter he’s – not unhappily – draped across. “Good morning.”

He’s even more handsome than Magnus remembers him. Though labouring through nervousness, his smile is warm and Magnus realises that he’s close enough to see the faint dusting of freckles across his nose and the way his enormous green eyes also contain specs of brown and blue.

“Hey,” Alec replies, his smile fading. He’s looking at Magnus as if expecting to be turned into a toad at any second. “Are you, um, did you… how did you sleep?”

“Oh, I could have done with a few more hours,” says Magnus, sitting up to stretch, “but I can’t complain about the quality of my mattress.”

Even in the dim light, it’s possible for Magnus to see that a deep blush has crept into Alec’s cheeks, and the sight of it amuses and delights him. So Alexander isn’t as impervious to his flirting as he was a few days ago. Good to know.

“I, uh… Jace and Clary said that it might be a good idea to stay with you for a bit longer, you know, just in case you needed more of my energy to restore your magic.”

Magnus has to bite back a laugh at this. Alec is always such a serious soldier that it’s nice to see that he has the ability to be gullible too.

“By the Angel, it was bullshit wasn’t it?” asks Alec, clearly spotting the mirth Magnus is trying so hard to conceal.

“I mean, it’s a lovely sentiment, and I’m sure every little bit helps,” says Magnus, unable to stop the amused grin that takes over his features, “but yes, for the most part.”

It looks for a moment as if Alec might be angry, but then his face breaks into an embarrassed grin.

“God, you must think I’m such an idiot,” he says, moving to bury his face in his hands.

“Not at all,” says Magnus, catching them before they hide him. “If you must know, I think it shows that you’re incredibly kind.”

Their eyes lock and, for a moment, all that exists in the world is Alec’s angelic perplexed face, the feeling of Alec’s calloused palms beneath Magnus’ fingertips and the sudden urge to close the small distance between them and kiss him. And what’s more, he’s pretty certain that the Shadowhunter would let him.

A loud cough from the guest bedroom leaves that line of thought dead in its tracks.

“Well, I’d best go see to Lucian,” says Magnus reluctantly, climbing gingerly to his feet. He’s still weak and will definitely need a good night’s rest to restore him, but he doesn’t feel as if his every cell is holding up a white flag anymore. “I’ll be right back.”

“Actually I… I think I’ll head home,” says Alec, also climbing to his feet. “Half the Institute is probably wondering where I am by now.”

“Please not yet,” says Magnus, placing a gentle hand on Alec’s upper arm. He really doesn’t have a good reason for wanting Alec to stay; just that he doesn’t want him to go yet. “At least give me the chance to thank you for your help tonight. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Alec looks as if he’s working through a million different pros and cons in that moment, but eventually something in him relaxes and he no longer looks as if he’s about to take off into the night. Noticing this shift, Magnus beams.

“I’ll just see if Lucian is comfortable and if he needs anything,” says Magnus over his shoulder as he strides to his guest room, where the Lycanthrope is still fast asleep. Clary is watching him vigilantly, and after assuring Magnus that she’ll call him if Luke needs him, Magnus makes his way back to the living room. It’s about halfway down the hallway that Magnus realises that Alec is talking to someone and suddenly on high alert, he creeps down the rest of the hallway, not wanting to announce his presence to anyone or anything new.

His sudden trepidation turns to relief and amusement when he sees that what he thought was Alec talking to an unknown being, turns out to be Alec with Chairman Meow cuddled against his chest, telling him off for trying to lick blood off of the couch.

“Now, I don’t know if you’re some kind of magical Warlock cat,” Magnus hears him say, gently scratching behind the cat’s ears, “but it’s probably best not to screw around with werewolf blood, alright? Who knows how terrifying New York would become if on top of all the demons we have to deal with, we suddenly had to take care of an infestation of werecats too.”

And it’s at that moment, with a grinning Alec clutching his cat against his chest, warning him about the dangers of ingesting werewolf blood, that Magnus realises that there’s a very good chance that he might fall in love with this man.

He clears his throat, and Alec whips around, the cat still in his hands, though now dangling as if Magnus had caught him red-handed with an armful of contraband.

“I was just… I um, I mean, I…” Alec puts down the cat. “I’m cleaning.”

“Oh really don’t bother, Alexander,” says Magnus. “I have magic for that.”

Alec smiles at that and the teasing nature of it surprises Magnus.

“I think you’ve exerted yourself enough for one day.”

He’s rendered temporarily speechless, and it’s only Alec turning back to mop at the couch with a sodden rag that pulls him back to. Aiming a small pulse of magic at the couch, Magnus removes any and all traces of dirt and Alec looks back at him, seemingly impressed.

“I’m serious, Magnus,” says Alec, striding towards him. “You need to replenish your strength. Your magic took a serious blow today.”

“I’ll be fine.” Magnus waves a dismissive hand and makes his way over to his mini bar, pausing on his way to jab a hand at his record player which begins filling the living room with the soft crooning tones of Sinatra. “Now. Repayment. I’m thinking that even though we keep putting those drinks on hold, there’s no reason for me not to know your favourite cocktail. What’s your poison?”

“Um, I don’t know. Surprise me,” says Alec. Magnus returns a few moments later with just the thing. After handing Alec the martini glass, he snaps his fingers and bright blue flames burn above his drink before vanishing. The look on Alec’s face tells Magnus that he's achieved the surprised.

 “You’re no good at doing what you’re told, are you?” Alec asks.

Magnus responds with a wicked grin.

“To us,” he says, and after clinking their glasses together, they both take a swig.

Alec’s brave, but pained grimace tells Magnus that he’s definitely not a martini guy. And after wrestling through what looks like the five stages of grief, Alec’s brow furrows.

“Uh oh, that frown can’t be good,” says Magnus. “Something on your mind, Alexander?”

“Why did you ask for me?” he asks. “Even though Jace and Clary were both here.”

“I thought you would have worked out the answer to that one already,” says Magnus, tapping where his mark is and winking.

“I guess it just helps to hear you say it.”

Magnus walks towards the window, swirling his drink around in his glass as he considers his next words carefully.

“It’s not just the mark we share, Alexander,” says Magnus. “I mean, that’s part of it, but the truth is that I just… wanted to see you again.”

“Why?” Alec asks and Magnus turns to face him. He’s wearing a perplexed expression as if the idea of someone wanting to see him is a completely foreign concept. Magnus’ heart twinges sadly.

“For almost a century I’ve closed myself off to feeling anything for anyone, man or woman,” he says, looking up into Alec’s searching eyes. “Even with the appearance of my soul mark, I was determined not to choose this. Then I met you and you’ve… unlocked something in me.”

Alec looks as if he’s about to say something; Magnus can see that the words are on the tip of his tongue, but then they seem to stick somewhere along the roof of his mouth. Feeling the need to spare Alec the need to reply, he reaches out and gently traces the shape of the mark that runs from just below Alec’s jaw to just above his collarbone, searching the Shadowhunters face for any sign to stop. There is none. Alec’s pulse beats wildly against his fingertips, and there’s a gentle intake of breath as he reaches the bottom stroke.

“A Deflect Rune,” Magnus remarks in barely more than a whisper, as he allows his hand to settle over it. “Maybe I’m not the only one who's been closing himself off.”

“It doesn’t really work like that.” Alec lets out a shaky breath. Magnus doesn’t know how it happened, but they’re standing so close now, it would be absolutely no effort to lean forward and just…

“Alexander,” Magnus asks amusedly, unable to tear his eyes away from Alec’s lips, “did you kiss my forehead earlier?”

“Oh god, you felt that?” He’s almost physically cringing in embarrassment.

“Well, yes,” says Magnus, bringing up the hand that isn’t resting on Alec’s neck to cup his cheek and the thumb he brushes across Alec’s lower lip collects flecks of glitter as it goes, “but you’ve also just got so much evidence here.”

He can feel Alec’s shallow breath on his cheek now and knows that Alec must be able to feel his heart beating wildly against his ribcage. There’s almost no space between them and though Magnus knows that this is what he wants more than anything he can ever remember wanting, he waits for Alec to decide. A few seconds pass that might as well be an eternity, but then Alec is leaning in the rest of the way, Magnus’ eyes fluttering closed in anticipation.

Their lips have barely brushed when Alec’s phone rings loudly, disintegrating the tension between them like a Seraph blade. Though he hopes that there’s a chance of salvaging the moment after the call, the crease in Alec’s brow and the sudden rigidity of his posture tells him that he needn’t bother. Alec was once again a stoic Shadowhunter warrior.

“And it was all going so well,” he sighs to Chairman Meow, who, as if sensing Magnus’ disappointment, at least has the decency to try to look sympathetic.


	3. Chapter 3

“Cream or sugar?”

Alec’s eyes snap open at the tinkling sound of a tray being set down.

His heart races, the pulse of it matching the painful throbbing in his temples, and his mouth feels dry and ashy like he’s swallowed sawdust. Light is streaming in from large windows beside him and he squints as he sits up.

He’s not at the Institute.

The last time woke up somewhere that wasn’t the Institute was when he was a child, before Jace came to live with them, when his mother and father had brought Isabelle and him with them on a short diplomatic visit. Even though at the time he was fascinated by how different the Buenos Aires Institute was to theirs, now blinking blearily out at what he’s slowly remembering as Magnus Bane’s apartment, he realises that the differences between the two Institutes weren’t that great after all. This bright, airy room with its trendy furnishings and exposed brick is a far cry from the cold stone and dim light that both Institutes had sported.

He’s not sure if the horrible roiling of his stomach is the alcohol, or anxiety at what his parents would think if they found out that he’d spent the night in a Downworlder’s lair.

“Did I fall asleep?” he asks, not really knowing what else to say. Magnus is barely two feet away from him and he can feel that strange electricity – Magnus’ magic – crackling between them again.

“We both did,” he replies as he sits down next to him. Alec feels a fleeting need to stand up, to put as much distance between them as possible, but it’s quickly overwhelmed by the much stronger desire to bask in the strange force between them. He stays, but tries to lean as far from Magnus as he can without it looking like that’s what he’s doing. Sensing Alec’s discomfort though, Magnus adds, “On separate couches. Don’t worry.”

“Oh,” says Alec, staring at the vase of pink roses on the table in front of him, wondering if it was there the night before. He can’t remember it being there the night before.

But then, he _was_ slightly distracted last night.

Though he can’t remember much after the third or fourth cocktail Magnus made, he clearly remembers the events before that: the powerful connection between them as Alec had shared his energy with Magnus, the giddy thrill of pressing a kiss to the Warlock’s forehead, the heart-stopping brush of their lips a few moments later, the mingled disappointment and relief when his phone had interrupted them.

And then there was Magnus asking him to stay for one more drink, then another and another until the room span and conversation flowed effortlessly between them. He wasn’t sure how much of it was down to the alcohol and how much of it was down to the disarming manner of the Warlock on the other end of the couch.

“Your defences seem to have slipped a bit,” says Magnus after a few moments of awkward silence, startling Alec from his jumbled thoughts. He glances at Magnus, expecting to meet his eyes, but the Warlock is looking at Alec’s knees where a small sliver of brilliant white light is shining through the dark fabric of his jeans. His bandages must have slid down his leg as he slept. He glances at Magnus’ knee where his mark is also forcing its light through the weave of his jeans, but the fact that it is showing doesn’t seem to bother Magnus. He regards Alec for a moment before speaking again. “How much do you actually understand about this situation, Alexander?”

“A bit, most of it from stories my tutor told us as kids,” Alec replied. “You know, that the Angel shows you when you find the person you’re supposed to be with forever by marking you both with the Destiny Rune on corresponding parts of your body, but that sometimes the person the Angel chooses for you is a Downworlder and then you get your mark long before you meet them as a warning. My mother always said they were just stories, but,” he gestures to his and Magnus’ knees, “apparently not.”

“Oh Maryse,” Magnus sighs and Alec is temporarily taken aback by the fact that Magnus seems to know his mother’s name. He doesn’t think he’s ever mentioned his parents by name, but then, they were the leaders of the New York Institute and Magnus was the High Warlock of Brooklyn. They probably knew Magnus better than Alec did.

“Well, you seem to know some of the mechanics of it, but there’s a lot more to it than that. You obviously know about the glowing that indicates how close you are to meeting your Fated? Witchlight means that both the Shadowhunter and Downworlder have acknowledged that they share their mark. You and I both acknowledge that this is what the Angel wills.”

“Magnus, I –“

“I don’t think that you know that you have a choice, though. See, your Angel recognises that this is a difficult path for a Shadowhunter and Downworlder to follow, so if either feels as though they would rather not take the risk, they can choose not to pursue it. If either the Shadowhunter or Downworlder refuses the bond, the marks disappear and life goes back to the way it was before.”

Alec is surprised at the relief that fills him at Magnus’ words. He was so sure that there was no escaping this – that even if he ignored his confusing feelings for Magnus and followed his parents’ wishes to marry a good Shadowhunter girl, the mark would always be there, reminding him that he was living a lie, reminding him that he was destined to be connected to the Downworld. The fact that he can decide against it, that it could disappear and he could live a relatively normal life is an unexpected and welcome surprise.

But then he looks at Magnus again and his thoughts stop in their tracks. He remembers how beautiful and right it felt to have his arms roped around him, how perfectly Magnus fit there. He thinks about how Magnus takes him at face value, but also seems to always look deeper to what’s underneath. How Magnus never makes him feel like he has anything to prove and yet, how Alec wants to prove himself anyway.

Would it really be that easy to give all that up?

It feels like all the air has left the room and Alec finds it suddenly difficult to breathe. He needs to leave. He needs space and time to think and it’s impossible to do with Magnus right there, looking at him so sincerely with that young, almost innocent face and old, unfathomably wise eyes.

He springs from the couch to get his jacket, his stomach lurching violently as he does, but he manages to keep it together. Just.

“God, I should have never taken you up on your offer for drinks,” Alec groans, shrugging on his jacket as gently as he can.

“In hindsight, liquor might have been a bad idea after being drained of all my magic to heal your friend, Luke,” Magnus replies, and Alec is sure he’s not imagining the testiness in his tone.

“Not my friend,” he says, striding towards the door. “He’s Clary Fairchild’s. I’ve only known her five days and she’s already more trouble than she’s worth.”

Magnus’ eyes scan him in a calculated way as if working out how to unravel a stubborn knot, and Alec feels strangely exposed. He’s so used to being transparent – to having people’s gaze flit quickly over him to settle on Isabelle or Jace. Magnus, however, makes him feel completely opaque – as if his entire field of vision stops at Alec. As if, sometimes, nothing else exists. It sends an involuntary thrill down Alec’s spine.

“Alexander,” Magnus eventually says in a gentle but firm voice that reminds Alec that he’s actually speaking to the High Warlock of Brooklyn, “I understand that this situation can’t be easy for you. I know that you have feelings for someone else and duties as a leader and societal norms to live up to, so I completely understand if you’re not up to all of whatever this is. Whatever your decision, I will accept it. Provided, however, that you do me one favour.”

“Okay?” Alec replies, his voice strangely hoarse.

“I only ask that you take time to really think about it before you make your decision. I’ve taken time to thoughtfully consider my feelings on the matter, so I expect the same courtesy from you. Whatever you choose is final and affects both of us so I would ask that, as far as possible, you try to make sure that you understand your heart, what it is that you want and why you want it. Maybe try not to be the selfless hero on this one.”

Alec doesn’t know what to respond to that. He honestly doesn’t know at this point if it would be more selfish to choose Magnus or not to choose him. And how is he supposed to understand his heart when everything he’s ever felt or known his whole life has been completely upended in less than a week?

He needs to get back to the Institute. He needs logic and familiarity, to be somewhere where the air isn’t full of the scent of coffee and roses and citrusy cologne. He needs the world to make sense again.

“What time is it? I need to get back to the institute,” he informs Magnus as he takes a step towards the door, choosing to change the subject rather than to acknowledge his request.

“Stay for breakfast,” Magnus blurts out suddenly as if the previous conversation didn’t happen. “Or at least a hangover cure? I brew a mean hair-of-the-dog potion.”

“When you say hair-of-the-dog,” says Alec, unable to suppress his curiosity, “that’s not literal, is it? It’s not full of, I don’t know, Werewolf hair or something like that, right?”

“It might be more than a little bit literal,” Magnus replies with a sheepish grin.

“In that case, I think I’ll pass.” Alec can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to look Magnus in the eyes again. “Don’t tell anyone I stayed here last night, alright? If anyone finds out, I –“

“Relax.” Magnus rolls his eyes. “My reputation is just as much on the line as yours. Things aren’t exactly cosy between the Nephilim and my kind at the moment.”

“Why’d you let me sleep here then?” asks Alec.

“Because, Alexander Lightwood, soul-mark or not, I find that I quite enjoy the time I spend with you. Call me crazy.”

“You must be,” says Alec, smile still in place as he leaves Magnus’ apartment.

Alec’s plan is to get back to the Institute and up to his room before anyone can ask him any questions about where he was last night. He’s not entirely surprised, however, that he’s caught by Isabelle almost as soon as he’s through the door.

“Slept at Magnus’ place?” she asks, her face a strange mixture of amusement and pride.

“Didn’t do much sleeping,” Alec replies. Isabelle’s eyes widen in amazement and realising how that must have sounded, he quickly adds, “I was helping treat Luke’s wounds, that’s all.”

 _“Really?”_ Her smile spreads into a gleeful smirk.

“What?” he asks as innocently as he can.

“Nothing. I believe you.”

He knows her well enough to know that she really doesn’t.

“Okay, Magnus made cocktails, but I’m telling you that nothing else happened.”

“Your lips say otherwise,” she says, gesturing to his mouth. He swipes a hand across it and upon examination, he’s horrified to find several specs of glitter shining up at him. Isabelle folds her arms. “Look, Alec, whenever you’re ready to talk about what you need to talk about, I’m here.”

“Hey, I talk to you,” says Alec indignantly.

“About everything but your personal life,” she replies. “And, you know, it’s kind of not fair because I talk to you about mine all the time. You’re the only person I _can_ talk to about mine most of the time.”

It turns out Isabelle has broken up with Meliorn because of their parents and Alec takes this as a sign that the hunt for their spouses has started in earnest. The mark just below his sister’s ribs means that she’s not destined to be with a Shadowhunter man though, and when he brings it up she shudders.

“I texted Magnus about it and he says that the shape of my mark means that my Fated is a Vamp. It hasn’t started glowing yet, so my first thought was that the other day at the Hotel Dumort it might have been one of the Vamps we killed, but apparently the mark disappears if your fated dies. Still, it made me realise that maybe it’s stupid to worry about falling in love with a Downworlder when everything between our people is so strained at the moment.”

Alec’s heart constricts painfully. The thing he’s always admired the most about his little sister is her idealism and her drive to follow her heart no matter how much it goes against everything they’ve been taught. He hates that she feels like she has to suppress that to protect him. That’s what he’s supposed to be doing by sticking to the rules.

“Izzy, I realise that you’re trying to take some of the family heat and I appreciate it,” he says, “but you can’t change who you are.”

He won’t let her change. If it comes to choosing between his sister’s happiness and his, he knows hers will win every time.

Unbidden, Magnus’ words swim to the surface of Alec’s mind.

_“Maybe try not to be the selfless hero on this one.”_

He’s not sure he’ll have the choice.

***

In theory, Magnus spends the next day or two sending fire messages to his fellow Warlocks – reminding them again to be prepared to escape quickly and to fight to defend their covens if necessary – while also meditating to regain the last of his power. In reality, he spends the majority of his time trying to suppress the nagging fear that at any moment, Alec will choose to reject the mark to comply with the unfair societal standards demanded of him by his parents and the Clave.

He knows that what he’s feeling isn’t actually love, that after barely a week there’s no way it could be, but he also knows that he deeply cares for Alec and that losing the opportunity for that caring to maybe one day turn into love would create a chasm in his life he doesn’t think he’ll be able to ever fix.

Magnus jumps when his phone rings and his heart rate quickens when he recognises the number for the Institute. Worried that any communication with Alec might drive him closer to the Clave, he’s resisted the urge to call or text him all day. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Alec might call him. He’s about to answer the phone with a _‘Hi, Alexander’_ but catches himself at the last minute. If it ends up being Maryse or Robert on the other end, he could end up making Alec’s life really difficult.

It’s just as well he answers with his usual _‘Magnus Bane?”_ , because it’s an unfamiliar female voice that greets him.

_“Magnus Bane, you’re speaking to Lydia Branwell, Envoy from the Clave.”_

“Wow, a Branwell? It’s been many years since I last had dealings with anyone by that name,” says Magnus, walking absent-mindedly to his balcony. “Any relation to Henry?”

 _“He’s my great-ancestor,”_ Lydia replies, the pride evident in her voice.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Magnus smiles. For a time, Henry Branwell was one of his closest friends and it’s bittersweet to have this tentative connection to him again so many years later. “How can I help you? I’m assuming this isn’t a social call.”

_“We need your help in detecting if magic was used to create the creature that was sent to attack Lucian Graymark earlier today. Would you be available to assist with the autopsy?”_

“I’m rather busy today,” Magnus lies, “but I suppose I could make it sometime later this afternoon. What kind of creatures are we dealing with?”

 _“We’re not sure at this stage, but we suspect it's a Forsaken,”_ says Lydia. _“I’ve never seen any this corrupted before though. It looks like its rotting alive.”_

“Ah,” says Magnus, already almost gagging as he imagines the smell. “Well, you can expect me a few hours from now. Will we be discussing payment before or after dealing with the hulking slab of rotting Forsaken?”

 _“I, unfortunately, won’t be able to assist you with the examination as I’m tied up with my duties to the Clave,”_ says Lydia, “ _but I can assure you that you will be paid handsomely for your assistance. One of our Shadowhunters will be examining the creature with you in my place.”_

Though he knows that it could be any number of Shadowhunters from the Institute, he knows that there’s every chance he might get to work with Alec. The thought of spending time with him again makes the prospect of poking around a rotting corpse slightly more bearable.

In the end it’s not Alec, but Isabelle, who he ends up working with. Biting back a small amount of disappointment, Magnus decides to thank his lucky stars that at least it’s not Jace. He actually quite enjoys Isabelle’s company. She’s young, but she has a sharp head on her shoulders and seems to get him in a way that not many people do. When she greets him in the autopsy room, she seems genuinely pleased to see him, as if greeting a friend. And as he smiles warmly back, he decides that that’s because they are.

The young Lightwoods have been very bad for his negative view of Shadowhunters.

The Forsaken smells just as bad as he imagined it would. Its rotting skin is bloated and yellow, with dark purple bruises and lacerations littered across its surface and though Magnus should be used to this kind of thing after several centuries, his stomach churns unpleasantly.

Deciding that the sooner he examines the damn thing the sooner he can leave the room, Magnus sets to work, arching his hand fluidly over the body to create a field of blue magic. He scans the Forsaken from top to bottom several times, searching a layer deeper each time he does. He learned the hard way many years ago that going straight for the core was a terrible idea. Back then, he didn’t quite have the hang of appearance spells and it took him several weeks of hats worn at jaunty angles to grow his eyebrows back. He’s learned since that it’s far better to start at the surface and search gradually deeper.

He decides, wryly, that getting to know Alec layer by layer might also be a good way to approach whatever it is between them. If Magnus goes straight for Alec’s core, it could end up backfiring horribly.

To Magnus’ relief, the Forsaken is clear of magic thus far, and he feels himself relax as he approaches the last few layers. His eyebrows will likely be safe this time.

“You almost done?” asks Isabelle, striding over to him, her heels clicking on the stone tiled floor.

“Patience is a virtue, my dear,” says Magnus as he finally searches the core to find that, besides a few slight traces of external magical interference, the Forsaken seems to have been biologically created.

“Come on, I want to get my hands on that thing.” Her eyes glitter with an intrigue and delight that amuses and alarms him. He hasn’t met many people this keen to poke around at rotting flesh, but then, he doesn’t know all that many Shadowhunters.

“Speaking of which,” he says, pouring a bit more energy into his final few sweeps now that he knows that it’s safe to do so, “how is Alexander? I was hoping I might hear from him.”

“Putrefaction,” says Isabelle, wrinkling her nose, “it’s decomposing.”

He gets the sense that she’s avoiding the question, but if she thinks he’s backing down, she’s clearly never encountered a Warlock who’s lived for hundreds of years.

“It’s just sometimes so hard to tell if Alec is actually interested. I mean, I can’t fathom why he wouldn’t be.”

Isabelle huffs out a small laugh.

“I don’t know if you noticed but my brother is not exactly warm and fuzzy.”

“Hmm, I suppose,” Magnus sighs. When he actually thinks about it, he realises that Alec’s had a lot on his plate these last few days. It’s hardly surprising that he hasn’t had much time to think about the soul marks. The fact that he’d been able to find time for their cocktails a few nights ago was a miracle in itself.

“Magnus,” says Isabelle in a gentle tone that he hasn’t heard her use before and indeed didn’t know she was capable of, “I know you’re interested in Alec, and I’m so thankful that you are – he’s needed someone to show him that he’s handsome and interesting and all the other things he’s somehow managed to convince himself that he’s not. But he’s got a lot going on right now. I don’t know if he’s talked to you about it, but he’s got this soul mark and it’s been a difficult thing for him to process so…”

She glances up at Magnus and he smiles at her until the realisation dawns on her face.

“By the Angel! You’re his Fated, aren’t you?” she whispers excitedly. “I thought you might be, but I wasn’t sure if you were just flirting with him because you just thought he was cute or whatever and… oh god that… that complicates things.”

“How so?” Magnus asks, not liking the way her face suddenly drops.

“Our parents,” she explains. “They’re trying to find him a wife.”

Magnus feels as though he’s been struck squarely in the chest with a powerful blow. While he knows that Alec is under serious societal pressure, he didn’t think it was as bad as an arranged marriage. He can’t imagine someone who embodies control as much as Alec does would be happy with having any aspect of his life planned for him, but at the same time, he can definitely imagine a scared, selfless and deeply miserable Alec marking his happiness away in a ceremony to make everyone else happy.

“Sorry,” says Isabelle, her eyes reflecting his disappointment.

“It’s quite alright,” says Magnus, trying to feign casualness. “I suppose Alec is just following his duty.”

“Not everyone gets the luxury of following their heart.”

Her tone is suddenly bitter and acidic and Magnus wonders if Alec isn’t the only one being dragged into the family politics.

“What about you?” he asks, watching her as she examines the creature. “You were all set on following yours, weren’t you?”

“My mark has disappeared,” she says shortly. “Seems kind of pointless to look for something that’s not there, no?”

“Isabelle, I’m so sorry,” he says. His worst fear at the moment is the thought of waking up to find his mark gone; knowing it would either mean that Alec has refused the bond or, worse, that he was…

“It’s okay,” she says. “I mean, I never met him so I suppose there’s not much to be sad about.”

Magnus isn’t sure what to say to that. If Isabelle was a Downworlder, he would know how to comfort her, how to coach her through her disappointment, how to remind her that ultimately this path is far easier. Isabelle is a Shadowhunter though, and more than that, she’s a Lightwood. He honestly can’t tell what she’s feeling right now.

With an unsettling disappointment creeping into his thoughts and the uncomfortable silence in the room growing, Magnus excuses himself to deliver the preliminary reports to the Lightwoods.

He’s making his way through the Operations Room towards the head office when he’s stopped in his tracks by a powerful wave of anger. It feels strange though, not quite right, like wearing his shoes on opposite feet and he realises with a jolt that the anger isn’t his. It’s another side effect of the soul bond, which means there’s only one person the anger can belong to. His eyes scan the room and finally land on Alec. He’s on one of the raised platforms that surround the high-tech operational equipment and is furiously attacking a punching bag. Shirtless.

Magnus decides then that it would be far more convenient (and enjoyable) to hand Alec the reports than having to trudge all the way to the head office.

He only seems to become more magnificent the closer Magnus gets. His toned muscles ripple with every strike he lands and the sweat pouring down his marked skin catches the colourful light from the stained-glass window behind him. He can suddenly understand that Shadowhunters are half angelic. Alec is breathtakingly beautiful.

Magnus’ sense of Alec’s anger disappears and is suddenly replaced with a jumble of indiscernible emotions as he notices him.

“Magnus,” he says, pausing his training to look at him inquisitively.

He knows that he should probably stop staring, but it seems to be impossible to look anywhere but the vast expanse of chest in front of him. With immense difficulty, he shakes himself back to reality, his heart thudding painfully against his ribcage.

“Okay. I’m back,” he says and though Alec regards him with a serious expression, Magnus can sense that part of him is pleased with the attention. Even so, he stalks past Magnus to pull on a shirt. “Oh, you don’t have to get dressed up for me.”

Alec pulls on his shirt regardless.

“Fine, but I like what I saw,” huffs Magnus, deciding the only way to deal with the sudden rush of being confronted with a post-workout Alec is to lean into it and flirt his way out. “I have the preliminary autopsy findings.”

“Why are you giving these to me?” he asks as he takes the folder from Magnus. He can’t help but notice that though Alec has pulled on his shirt, he hasn’t fastened it and Magnus wonders if Alec has left it open on purpose. “It should go to the Head of the Institute.”

“And it is,” Magnus replies, his brow creasing in confusion as Alec tosses the folder onto a nearby bench.

“I’m not,” he shrugs. “And I never will be.”

For the second time that day, Magnus isn’t sure how to respond to a Shadowhunter. He can understand Alec’s need for responsibility – it’s a fundamental part of him. What he can’t understand is the drive to work for the antiquated and bureaucratic hell that is the Clave. Instead of a reply, Magnus looks him right in the eyes to show him that he’s listening. That he’s paying attention.

“Magnus, it’s like… it’s like my whole life has been a lie. Everything I’ve ever known is not –“

“It’s not what you thought.” He senses something dark and furious boil to the surface of Alec’s feelings and beneath it a deep and unexplainable hurt. Whatever Alec is going through is deeper than simply the demands his parents are making of him. What Alec is feeling is a fundamental betrayal and Magnus wonders if it has anything to do with the Lightwoods’ involvement with the Circle.

“I’ve done everything for my parents, for the Clave, and...” Alec trails off as if trying to find adequate words to express what he’s experiencing. “See, I’ve done _everything_ that they’ve asked.”

“Maybe you should start living for yourself,” says Magnus gently. “Do what’s in your heart.”

It seems like such a simple thing, but Magnus is realising more and more as he gets to know Alec that Alec has likely never made a big decision that was purely for his own benefit. Magnus has never had any trouble with that; hedonism is sometimes the only way to cope with the loneliness of immortality. Hell, even his suggestion that Alec follow his heart isn’t entirely selfless, if he’s honest. Magnus is hoping that part of Alec following his heart would be that Alec would choose him. That he would choose what they could have together.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he says after a pause, regarding Magnus seriously, “but I think you’re right.”

And somehow after the crushing blow of Isabelle’s revelation earlier, Magnus finds hope bubbling up inside him again.

“Well, in that case, my work here is done,” he smiles, retrieving the folder from where Alec tossed it. “I suppose I’ll just deliver this to the head office and be on my way.”

“I can take it,” says Alec, the corners of his mouth perking up in an involuntary smile. “You know, save you a trip?”

“Thank you, Alexander.”

And with one last warm smile, Magnus makes his way back to the Operations Room, hoping the spring in his step is just metaphorical.

***

The idea has been rolling around in his head since Lydia arrived, but it’s only after Magnus’ encouragement and the weird unfamiliar hope he felt while talking to him that it actually begins to take root.

He knows his mother and father won’t approve. They feel threatened by Lydia and Alec supposes that they have reason to be. He doesn’t, however, feel any need to take their opinion on the matter into account. He’s doing this for them and whether they agree with his methods or not is their problem. It’s their fault that he has to make these kinds of decisions in the first place. The betrayal he feels at the discovery that his parents are ex-Circle members is still fresh and raw, and the salt in the wound is that the reason he’s been trained to be such a textbook-perfect Shadowhunter his entire life is to cover up for their mistakes.

Not anymore.

The thought that sprung into his mind that morning – the thought that even if his responsibilities wouldn’t allow him to marry someone he loved, he might at least be able marry someone he understood and respected – is now a fully-formed plan and each step he takes towards Lydia’s office is spurred on by his duty, his desire for his sister to just be herself again, the painful finality of Jace and Clary kissing, Magnus’ gentle and understanding encouragement and, more than anything, he’s spurred on by his need to be seen, to be taken seriously and to be counted as someone with something important to contribute.

Alec is surprisingly calm throughout the short conversation. He expects to be more nervous as he explains his thinking to her, expects to stammer and trip over his words, but there’s no fear – just a steely determination that this is the right thing. Just over a minute after walking into her office, Alec asks Lydia Branwell to marry him. She accepts his proposal, but Alec tells her to sleep on it and let him know what she thinks in the morning. It’s a life-changing decision so Alec wants to be certain that he’s given her enough time to weigh up the pros and cons.

He’s heading back to check on Isabelle in the lab and say goodnight to her when he hears the sounds of a scuffle coming from the Training Area. He knows that Hodge mentioned that he was going to be training, but Alec is definitely hearing two distinct sets of footsteps and grunts. And while there’s every chance that Hodge might be training with someone, Alec has long since learned to err on the side of caution.

He makes his way as stealthily as possible to the Weapons Area to pick up his bow and quiver and he’s glad he does.

A Forsaken is looming over a prone Hodge with a spiked club. Alec draws his bow without a second’s hesitation and a moment later, his arrow buries itself in the creature’s shoulder. The Forsaken turns to face him, clumsily advancing on him, and Alec manages to send another arrow straight into the creature’s chest. It doesn’t seem to have any effect other than making the creature angry and Alec doesn’t have time to duck the massive blow to his side. As he lies sprawled on the floor, ribs throbbing, he’s unprepared for the agony of his arm being torn open by the club’s sharp spike.

Through his pain, he’s vaguely aware of Hodge attacking the Forsaken from behind, the creature crashing to the ground and Isabelle’s worried voice as she rushes over to him.

He’s also aware of an intense and powerful feeling of fear and, though he has no idea how, he knows it’s not his own. It doesn’t seem to fit right, and he’s sure that it’s someone else who’s afraid, that he’s just experiencing it.

Then he blacks out.

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is a soft gold glow somewhere to the left of him. For a moment, he thinks it might be his bedside lamp, but it’s warmer and richer than any electrical light he’s ever seen. As he blinks and the world comes back into focus he realises the light is coming from Isabelle’s side. In his surprise, he tries to scramble up in bed, wincing in pain as he remembers why he’s waking up.

“Izzy, your –“

But Isabelle is gently pushing him back down to the bed. He sees now that he’s in the Infirmary and the mingled smell of blood and disinfectant bring him sharply back to reality. The Forsaken, Hodge, the weird sensation of feeling someone else’s fear all come flooding back to him and to make matters worse, his sister’s soul mark is now glowing gold. She’s met her Fated.

“Shh, you need to rest, big brother.”

“No, Izzy, your mark. It’s… it’s…”

“You don’t need to worry about my mark anymore, Alec,” she says, smoothing his hair away from his face. “It’s gone. It’s not there anymore.”

“No, Iz, it’s glowing.” Alec gestures to the spot where the light is cutting through the dark blue of her dress. She glances down at it and her eyes widen in shock. A moment later she gasps.

“Oh my god – _Simon_ ,” she says.

“Simon? As in the Mundy?” asks Alec, confused.

“I don’t think he’s a Mundy anymore,” she says softly, covering her side with her hand as she slips on her discarded lab coat. “Clary must have chosen to bring him back. Oh my god, Alec, I was trying to convince her to stake his heart. What if she’d actually staked his heart? If he’s my Fated that means the Angel chose him – that there’s something the Angel wants him to do. And there I was trying to convince her to kill him.”

“Hey, you didn’t know,” he says, reaching out to take her hand. “And besides, it’s your job to discourage violent Downworlder conversions. You were just following your duty as a Shadowhunter.”

“And what about my duty as a human being?” Isabelle’s eyes are shining with a strange emotion Alec has never seen there before, and he’s struck suddenly with how grown up she is and how in so many ways, she’s so much more mature than him. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll let Dad know you’re awake.”

As the sound of Isabelle’s heels grows fainter, Alec begins feeling the same fear he felt before he passed out, and mixed with his own confusion, his head is beginning to spin.

 _You’re fine,_ he tells himself. _You’re going to be patched up and then everything is going to be fine._

A moment later, a feeling of euphoric relief washes over him, even causing a small huff of laughter to escape his lips, and it occurs to Alec that this might be another soulmate thing – that it might be Magnus’ worry and relief he’s sensing. Far from comforting him, the thought causes a knot of anxiety to form at the pit of his stomach. If Alec can feel what Magnus is feeling, there’s every chance that Magnus can feel what Alec is feeling, and it could only serve to make this whole situation way more complicated than it already is.

The next few hours find Alec experiencing the most frustration he’s ever been subjected to in his entire life. He knows that it was necessary for Magnus to return to secure the wards, but having to deal with the complication that is Magnus on top of all the stress of the last night is threatening to send him to his breaking point. It’s impossible to concentrate on concealing his emotions while experiencing the rollercoaster of Magnus’. And while Alec is beginning to suspect that he can only pick up on Magnus’ strongest emotions, his problem is that Magnus seems to have nothing but strong emotions.

He’s not surprised to find that Magnus really doesn’t like his father. Waves of disgust and contempt that aren’t his roll through Alec as Magnus patches up the broken wards in the Ops Room. Alec wonders how much of it is because of his father’s involvement with the Circle and how much of it is because of his general distrust of Shadowhunters. Not that he should be wondering. In fact, he should be actively trying to not think about Magnus. He’s getting married. The time for entertaining thoughts about being with the Warlock is over.

After a brief and tense discussion about the effectiveness of Magnus’ wards, Robert Lightwood stalks off, leaving Alec alone with Magnus. Well, not alone. Alec is keenly aware of the many eyes in the room below that are trained on Magnus. It’s not every day that they have a Warlock at the Institute and certainly not one with a reputation like the High Warlock of Brooklyn’s. That’s what makes him pull violently away from Magnus when he offers to help heal Alec’s Forsaken wound. Warlocks aren’t known to voluntarily help Shadowhunters and Alec shudders to think of the rumours that would circulate if anyone were to see them.

Alec’s sense of Magnus’ hurt and confusion mingles with his own anger and frustration and he’s never wanted to be anyone else more than he does right now.

“If anything were to happen to you…” says Magnus, softly. His cold hurt is tinged with something warmer – caring and concern – and Alec resists the temptation to let that warmth spread through his emotions too.

“Why is this happening?” he demands of Magnus instead, brows creased. “Why am I suddenly feeling what you’re feeling?”

“ _Misericordia_ ,” Magnus explains, “the empathy tether. In the same way that _Habebat_ allows us to combine our abilities and _Impetus_ allows us to share energy, _Misericordia_ allows us to feel what the other is feeling. Because Downworlders and Nephilim come from vastly different worlds, it’s supposed to help a Fated pair form a greater understanding of each other so that their choice is more informed.”

“Great, another gift from the Angel,” says Alec bitterly. He glances around to see if anyone is paying attention to their conversation and is unsurprised to find several people throwing furtive glances at the two of them. It sets Alec even more on edge. He can’t risk anyone finding out about Magnus and him. Not now that he’s so close to fixing everything that Clary and Jace and his parents have broken.

“Alexander,” says Magnus, taking a step towards him and Alec moves back.

“Magnus I’m…” He tries to tell him about Lydia and their engagement, but as he catches Magnus’ eye, the words stick in his throat. He can see the centuries of well-worn pain and disappointment in the Warlock’s eyes, but there’s something new and uncharted there too – something strangely vulnerable. Alec knows he has to get out of there before another moment of weakness. “I.. I’ve got to –“

“Go?” Magnus supplies. His voice falsely cheery and Alec tries not to think about how he picks up on that. “Of course – you’re a busy man, and I should find this Lydia person. Payment up front is just smart business. Where might I find her?”

“I haven’t seen her,” says Alec bluntly, “but if I do I’ll send her your way.”

He can’t be around Magnus anymore. Being close to someone as warm and exciting and beautiful as Magnus, being so close to starting something that he suspects would change his life for the better, but knowing that he can’t pursue it because his happiness would come at the cost of his family’s was too painful. Far more painful than the gash in his arm.

He remembers his first big injury. He was five and was prone to running where he should have been walking. As a result, he slipped down a flight of stairs, breaking his leg. He was too young then to be marked with an Irazte, and he remembers trying to bravely fight back his tears while Hodge and one of the nursing sisters tended to him.

_“Where does it hurt?” Hodge asked while the nurse looked at his leg._

_“Nowhere,” Alec replied. “I’m a Shadowhunter.”_

_“You’re really brave,” smiled Hodge, “but can I tell you a secret? Even Shadowhunters get hurt.”_

_“But I thought they were warriors,” said Alec._

_“They are,” said Hodge. “The thing about pain though, Alec, is that it’s a gift. It’s a messenger that tells you when something is wrong so that you can fix it.”_

Hodge’s words ring in Alec’s years now, over fifteen years later. If the decisions he’s making about Magnus are painful, surely that’s a sign that he needs to fix it? Maybe not being able to escape the way avoiding Magnus felt like a physical ache meant that he was on the wrong track?

The thought is gone by the time he gets to the training area a few minutes later. Alec’s plan will ensure that his family will be protected, that Lydia will get her chance to run an Institute and that Isabelle can go back to being herself. His plan will ensure that he will be able to start a good family, one that will be recognised and respected by the Clave.

Alec knows that if he’s choosing this, he has to refuse the soul bond.

Since now is as good a time as any, he sits down on one of the nearby benches and wonders if there’s a specific way he needs to go about it, any specific phrase he needs to recite or posture he needs to assume. Eventually, he decides that placing a hand over his mark and simply addressing the Angel with his request is probably a safe bet.

But for some reason, though the words are on the tip of his tongue, he can’t go through with it.

Instead, he gets up and begins his training, hoping that the physical activity will push any and all thoughts from his mind.

***

They’ve taken Meliorn to the City of Bones and though Magnus is furious, he isn’t that surprised. The Clave has never been big on taking time to gather the necessary evidence to substantiate its suspicions. It’s corrupt and ageing, a brittle skeleton clinging to any scrap of tradition and influence it can, becoming crueller and less effective with every passing year. Even when the majority of the Clave’s problems are the direct result of Valentine and the Circle’s actions, it’s somehow always the Downworld that takes the worst hit.

He spends that morning furious, exhaustedly roaming the halls of the Institute to reinforce their wards. Though he knows the Institute will pay him generously, Magnus would much rather forgo the money if it means he could escape the cold, dark walls of the centuries-old church. The only thing keeping him here is Alec. Magnus can sense that he’s grappling with something huge and he’s sure it means that Alec is getting nearer to making a definite decision about their soul bond. If Alec wants to talk, Magnus wants to be somewhere nearby. After their short conversation in the Training Room yesterday, his anxiety that Alec might cut off the bond at any moment has been instead replaced with a tentative hope. Alec said that he wanted to follow his heart and maybe the conflicting emotions that are now rolling through Magnus are just Alec working through the last of his concerns.

 _“Magnus,”_ says a voice behind him, startling him from his thoughts. He turns, hands still charged with magic, to see Isabelle and Jace standing at the opposite end of the hallway, their faces grim and determined. He understands what that expression on Shadowhunters means. It’s the face they wear when they’re about to go into battle. He hopes to every god in the universe that they’re not planning to drag him into anything.

“More orders from the Head of the Institute?” he asks.

“The opposite, actually,” says Isabelle, striding towards him. Jace follows a few paces behind. “We need your help.”

“Can it wait? As you can see, my hands are a little full at present.” He raises them to draw attention to the magic glowing around them.

“Magnus, please,” says Isabelle, her dark eyes full of determination, “it’s to help Meliorn.”

“They’re about to torture him. Probably kill him,” Jace adds. “Or maybe you’re not familiar with how the Clave conducts interrogations in the City of Bones?”

“Oh, I know very well what happens to Downworlders in the hands of the Silent Brothers,” says Magnus, retracting his magic and fixing Jace with a dark glare. “That in mind, perhaps you’ll understand why I’m hesitant to trust any of your kind.”

“You trust my brother though, don’t you?” asks Isabelle, and Magnus knows that his expression has betrayed him when Isabelle takes a step closer and places a hand on his arm. “Help _him_ then. He’s convinced that siding with the Clave on this is the right thing to do and he’s not listening to reason. If we don’t save Meliorn, Alec will have that on his conscience for the rest of his life.”

Isabelle has him. He knows it and she knows it. There’s precious little that Magnus wouldn’t do to protect Alec.

“Fine,” he says. “Talk.”

“Not here,” says Jace, his eyes scanning the hallway. “We’ll talk in the Meeting Room. It won’t look as suspicious and Magnus can put up a silencing charm just in case.”

“Oh can he?” says Magnus. “Only if you say the magic word.”

Jace glares back at him in reply.

About half an hour after his clandestine meeting with Isabelle and Jace, Magnus follows Alec to the head office and watches as he disappears inside. Once certain that Alec is far enough into the room that he won’t hear Magnus walking towards it, Magnus makes his way to just past the door. He glances nervously down the hallway to make sure that no one sees him then waves his hand over the wainscoting, creating a small window in one of the wooden panels.

Alec is leaning against the desk with his shirt halfway off, tending to his Forsaken wound. The gash is still angry, red and raw and at the sight of it, Magnus has to bite back a gasp. It would be so easy for him to send a pulse of healing magic and have it disappear, but it would render this whole operation null and void. Besides, Alec made it clear doesn’t want Magnus’ help with it. He reminds himself that he’s here for Alec’s Stele and, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, Magnus scans the desk for it. His eyes eventually settle on Alec’s jacket pocket where the silver wand-like instrument is poking out just enough for Magnus to see it. Taking careful note of its positioning, Magnus snaps his fingers and the Stele vanishes. He immediately pulls out his phone, waiting for Jace’s signal that he’s retrieved the Mortal Cup from the safe.

Magnus looks up and sees that, to his horror, Alec has already replaced his bandage and is in the process of pulling on his shirt. If they are going to have any chance of getting away with this, Jace better move at lightning speed. But several tense seconds pass with no sign from him. All the while, Alec is buttoning up his shirt.

The real panic is just starting to set in when, _finally_ , his phone buzzes in his hand. He briefly reads. ‘ _Done – You can put it back’_ before snapping his fingers and slipping Alec’s Stele back into the pocket Magnus took it from. It couldn’t be a closer call because a second later, Alec is picking up the jacket and making his way to the door.

Magnus barely has time to remove the window and slip his phone into his pocket when Alec enters the hallway.

“All done for today,” he says cheerfully, pretending that he’s checking the walls. “Place is secure. Not bad for a day’s work.”

“Magnus. I was just… are you okay?” Alec asks. The question disarms Magnus who’s suddenly finding it nearly impossible to play it casual.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks with a small huff of forced laughter.

“You were panicking a second ago.” Alec’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “I thought there might be something –“

“No, it was just nerves,” says Magnus, not completely untruthfully. “I thought I’d stop by to see how you were doing.”

Alec is silent for a moment and Magnus tries to convince himself that Alec’s confusing rush of emotions is a good thing.

“I meant to thank you for your advice,” he eventually says. “The whole… follow your heart thing.”

Magnus is struggling to breathe. Could this actually be happening? Was this it?

“Oh, well what can I say? I have a deep understanding of the human psyche,” he smiles nervously, knowing that Alec must be able to feel his nervous anticipation. “At least that’s what Freud always said.”

In truth, he only met Freud once and it was the worst hour of his life. But since name-dropping historical figures into his conversations with mortals is one of the only things that makes being immortal worthwhile he decides Alec doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m getting married,” says Alec. Whatever Magnus was expecting him to say, it wasn’t that.

“Whoa, that’s a tad sudden, isn’t it?” says Magnus, who is struggling to get his head around the turn this conversation is taking. “I mean, we should at least go to dinner first.”

“Magnus,” Alec says in a serious tone that sets Magnus on edge, “family is everything to me. You have to know that.”

“I get it,” Magnus smiles. “You’re part of a _‘don’t ask, don’t tell’_ culture. I’m fine with it. You’re a traditional guy.”

“Yeah, I am,” Alec agrees. It seems as though they’ve ended the conversation on the same page, but Magnus can sense that there’s something else Alec wants to say and he waits expectantly to hear what it is. Alec takes a deep breath. “That’s why I proposed to Lydia.”

It feels as if every particle of matter has suddenly been ripped from the universe and all that exists is the blood pounding in his ears and the sensation of his stomach plummeting to an unfathomable depth. This is why relationships are a bad idea. This is what he’s been successfully shutting out for almost a century – this awful, gut-wrenching feeling of rejection – of not being good enough.

This was worse than finding out Alec’s parents were arranging a marriage for him. Alec, knowing about the soul bond, knowing how Magnus felt about him, chose to propose to this Shadowhunter woman who is little more than a stranger.

“That’s… interesting,” he says, struggling to string words together. What now? What is he supposed to do with this?

“It makes sense. It’s a solid partnership. For both of us.”

“Solid partnership,” Magnus repeats with a bitter laugh, “that’s _hot_.”

Alec at least has the basic decency to look ashamed at this point, but Magnus’ emotions are too overwhelming to tell what Alec is actually feeling.

He was such an idiot to think that this was going to go the other way.

“Well okay then. Congratulations. Marriage is a wonderful institution – not that I would know.” He takes a deep breath and, gathering the very last of his composure, he says, “Goodbye, Alexander.”

Pushing past Alec, Magnus feels the tempting tears beginning to sting his eyes, but refuses to let them fall. He let this happen. He did this to himself. What good would crying about it do?

It’s only as he nears the end of the hallway that he feels it. There, buried beneath the torrent of his own feelings, is a powerful wave of emotion that isn’t his. The marks are still there. Their soul bond is still intact. He can still feel what Alec is feeling.

And what Alec is feeling in that moment isn’t the calm and relief that Magnus imagines. There’s joyless resignation there and more than a little frustration, but far stronger than either of those, Alec Lightwood is filled with a deep and bitter regret. Magnus smiles weakly despite himself.

All is not lost.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I sat down to write the last chapter and because of my inability to estimate how many chapters it takes to tell a story, it ended up being 18 500 words long, so It's now two chapters. I'll be posting the last part tomorrow sometime. :)

Alec has never felt less sure of himself than he does right now. Up until a few weeks ago, his life was perfectly within his control. All the compartments lined up perfectly: his responsibilities as a leader, his duty to the Clave, his family relationships, his friendships. Hell, even his romantic feelings were manageable. He was used to pining after Jace in the knowledge that nothing would ever happen, he was used to hiding his soul mark, he was used to resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have to get married to a good Shadowhunter girl one day. It was fine. He was handling it.

How has it only taken a week and a half for everything to fall so spectacularly to shit?

Despite his best efforts to stop it, every time he closes his eyes it’s like the image of Magnus’ face, hurt and confused, has been burned to his retinas. He knows that Magnus is interested, but he wasn’t prepared for the powerful surge of anger and betrayal he felt when he told Magnus that he was marrying Lydia. Alec thought that the task would be simple – that once he knew that nothing could happen between them, Magnus would lose interest. He even hoped that Magnus might be upset enough to refuse the soul bond, saving Alec the final decision.

He didn’t realise that Magnus’ feelings about him were so intense and he certainly didn’t realise, until after he watched the Warlock walk away from him, that his own feelings were much the same.

But, Alec sternly reminds himself, he’s made a decision and there’s no way he’s going back on it.

Though he initially had his misgivings about handing Meliorn to the Silent Brothers, he now leads the Seelie Knight to the City of Bones with a fierce determination. Lydia’s story about John – about how her decision to spare an informant from being tortured cost her fiancé his life, the deep regret and loss in her words as she explained what happened all those years ago – has filled Alex with a firm resolve. With Valentine at large, no one in the Shadoworld is safe. If taking Meliorn to the Silent Brothers will get them information on what Valentine is planning, it’s something they have to do. Thought of losing anyone the way Lydia lost John fills Alec with a sense of dread that’s difficult to push past. He can’t lose his parents, or Max, or Jace, certainly not Isabelle or even Magnus…

_We rule with our heads, not with our hearts._

He leads Meliorn through the dark and dingy warehouse, jaw set and eyes trained on the pillar that will unlock the entrance to the City of Bones. After inscribing the required rune, he stands back and watches as one of the nearby walls crumbles away to reveal an entrance and Alec shudders. In the cold stone archway is a carved statue of a hooded figure, its head bent and bony fingers wrapped around a large sword – the Angel of Death. Alec knows that the statue and the grotesque display of skeletons behind it are a warning to both the Downworlder and the Shadowhunter accompanying them that those of the Downworld rarely escape the City of Bones alive. Alec pauses, hesitation briefly flaring up again, but he quickly swallows it down and shoves Meliorn towards the arch.

He’s about halfway when he’s interrupted by an unpleasantly familiar voice behind him.

_“Alec!”_

It _can’t_ be her. Jace had promised.

But sure enough, when he turns around, he sees Clary standing there, watching him with a look of fierce determination. For a moment he tries to convince himself that she’s slipped away again, that she’s just escaped, but no, when he hears a noise and turns to see what caused it, Jace is standing there. His expression mirrors Clary’s.

“You told me you were taking Clary to the Institute,” says Alec, trying to keep a level head. “You _lied_ to me.”

“I did what needed to be done,” Jace responds, his tone carefully schooled.

“Alec, the Clave has gone too far,” Clary adds, striding across the room to stand in front of him and Meliorn. “You have to see that. Please, just let Meliorn go.”

It’s then that Alec notices that she has a new rune just beneath her right collarbone. In contrast to the redness of her still-healing marks, this one is dark and set, as if she has been wearing it and reactivating it for years. He’s so used to the fine, luminous lines of his own mark that he almost doesn’t realise what it is at first, but there’s no mistaking it – Clary has been marked with the Destiny Rune, which means that she is part of a Shadowhunter soul pair and Alec realises, heart sinking, that there’s only one person the matching mark can belong to.

“I have my orders,” says, Alec, forcing himself, with difficulty, to focus on the conversation at hand.

“You and your damn orders!” Clary snaps. “Who cares about orders?”

“See? That’s how little you know about being a Shadowhunter,” says Alec, unable to keep the anger from his voice. “You couldn’t possibly understand –“

“It’s you that doesn’t understand, Alec,” Jace cuts across him. “Not this time.”

For a moment all Alec can do is stare at him in disbelief. Is he really so blinded by Clary that he can’t see the necessity of this? Has he changed so much in the last week that he’s now willing to actively defy the Clave? Focusing all his fury and disappointment towards completing his mission, Alec charges forward with Meliorn, but he’s forcefully tackled to the ground by Jace before he can reach the entrance.

“Clary, Meliorn, go now!” he yells.

Alec struggles to sit up, to free his arms, anything that might get him back on his feet so that he can finish this mission, but it’s too late. He hears Clary and the Seelie leave the building. Even if he could catch up to them now, there’s a Wolfpack outside protecting them. He wouldn’t stand a chance.

As he pushes back at the force of Jace’s arms pinning him down, Alec notices the small Destiny rune beneath his left collarbone and he feels himself reach his breaking point.

He’s known for a while the tentative situation with Jace was never going to last – from meeting him for the first time when they were kids; to realising a few years later that he, Alec, who never broke any rule given to him, couldn’t find girls attractive the way that all Shadowhunter boys were supposed to; to discovering that he was in love with Jace; to speculating about whether or not Jace might feel the same way about boys that Alec felt about them since he never seemed to talk about girls, only to have that idea stamped down when Jace came back to the Institute late one night and described in great detail his kiss with some Seelie girl; to the discovery of his soul mark; to meeting Clary and seeing the way Jace looks at her; to meeting Magnus and experiencing what it’s like to have someone that unfairly attractive show interest in him; to seeing Jace and Clary kiss like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Alec knows that Jace has no control over it, but it doesn’t stop the cold fury and hideous jealousy that courses through him.

“You always broke the rules, but never the law,” says Alec, his voice strained with the effort of trying to fight Jace off. “Not until _she_ showed up.”

“You’ve had it out for Clary from the start. And now you’re getting married, Alec? We both know what this is about.” Jace’s eyes are concerned, softer than Alec has seen them in days. It only makes Alec angrier. What right does Jace have to be worried when he’s spent the last week helping all of this madness happen?

“Oh do we?” Alec asks acidically. “Why doesn’t the _legendary_ Jace Wayland tell us what it’s about?”

“It’s about me!” yells Jace. “It’s about your feelings for me and about that mark on your leg that you think I don’t know abou –“

A wave of something dark and primal rises in Alec, and before he realises what he’s doing, he punches Jace in his jaw and throws him off. They both scramble to their feet and immediately Jace attacks. Alec manages to block the blow, but Jace, not to be dissuaded, grabs Alec’s shoulders and lands a solid kick to his stomach. Alec shoves him to the ground, landing a kick of his own as he does. And then Jace is on his feet again attacking Alec with a listless blow that he easily blocks and he uses the momentum of the movement to grab Jace’s arm and wrestle him to the ground again.

It shouldn’t be this easy to overpower Jace. Though Alec is taller, Jace is broader and stronger and has always been the better fighter. In a race, Alec could outpace our outrun him any day, but hand-to-hand combat is Jace’s playground. He’s never known Jace to back down from a fight and he has no idea why Jace is letting him win now.

But fine, if Jace wants to lose, Alec will make sure that he does.

Alec manages to land two more punches before Jace kicks him off and stumbling back, he’s completely blindsided when Jace lands a kick to his Forsaken wound. Excruciating pain shoots down his arm, and though tempted to sink to the ground cradling his arm, Alec uses the adrenaline shock to strike Jace as hard as he can in the chest and stomach. He’s out for blood now. Jace tries going for Alec’s head again, but Alec catches his arm, holding him in place long enough to land another punch to his face and stomach. In one fluid movement, Alec throws Jace to the ground, draws his Seraph blade and finally has Jace pinned to the floor. Pain like he’s never experienced it – both physical and emotional – courses through him as he glares down at Jace with his Seraph blade pressed to his throat.

To his surprise, Jace doesn’t fight him off.

“Do it,” he says, breathing heavily. “DO IT!”

Alec’s knife hovers over Jace’s neck, threatening to cross the final inch between them.

“I don’t want to be alive if we’re on different sides, Alec.”

His voice is shaking, his face contorted with pain. The rawness and vulnerability that Jace never lets anyone see, not even family, is now directed at Alec – is _because_ of Alec and it’s like he’s been unexpectedly doused in ice water. He falls back numbly as Jace scrambles to his feet.

“Come with me,” Jace says, his tone thick with emotion. “We’ll fight Valentine the right way. Together.”

Alec can’t meet his eyes. Jace doesn’t understand. How could he? He doesn’t know what it’s like to live with the name Lightwood – to have to uphold the centuries of honour and tradition that come with it and to be expected to fix the mistakes made by Lightwoods before him. Jace is undoubtedly a member of their family, but he is dealt with differently, rewarded differently, reprimanded differently, discussed differently and talked to differently... As much as he is Isabelle, Alec and Max’s brother, he’s a Wayland. Upholding the good name of Lightwood isn’t his burden to bear.

“If we do that,” he says in a hollow voice, “we’ll be considered traitors like Mom and Dad.”

“I’m begging you,” Jace pleads. “My Parabatai. My brother. Please, Alec, come with me.”

Alec looks up at him then and is struck at how different Jace looks with tears in his eyes and his bottom lip trembling with the effort of not giving in to his emotions. There’s no sign of Jace Wayland, the most promising Shadowhunter of his generation, just a heartbroken nineteen-year-old boy clinging desperately to something that’s no longer there. Alec wishes he could provide it for him, but things are different now. Everything Alec cares about is at stake. He can’t afford to make a single wrong move.

He’s never said no to Jace before and it takes all of his courage to do so now. It also takes all of his nerve and determination to stick to his decision once he sees the look of hurt and betrayal that crosses his Parabatai’s face, to not follow him when he goes off in search of Clary and the Seelie.

He’s a mess and the only thing that’s stopping him from spiralling completely is Magnus’ solid and steady concern for him underneath his own conflicting emotions. Alec isn’t sure what to make of it, but even just its presence is comforting. It’s the next best thing to actually having Magnus’ with him. Who else does he have now, really? Isabelle is mad at him, Jace is gone and he’s certainly not about to ask his parents for anything. He’s supposed to be able to confide in Lydia but he doesn’t know her well enough to know how much of tonight he can share with her. She might be obligated to act on certain information, information that might put people he cares about at risk of banishment, and he can’t do that. For now, a vague sense of Magnus’ emotions is enough to remind him that he’s not completely alone.

After allowing himself a minute to wallow in his self-pity, Alec forces himself back to his feet to see what he can salvage from this botched mission.

***

Magnus is exhausted. It’s a tiredness that goes beyond just lack of sleep and overuse of his magic. He feels like the act of keeping himself going at the moment is costing him more energy than he’s getting back and he realises after a while that it’s emotional exhaustion – both from the maelstrom of his own feelings and the confusing and turbulent influx of Alec’s – and it’s forcing him to take a different view on things.

He doesn’t want to give up on the soul bond. He knows that Alec feels the same way he feels – that he’s just confused and that there’s every chance that he still might choose to pursue the bond. But he also knows how stubborn Nephilim are, especially the Lightwoods – _especially_ Alec. Is holding onto the hope that the Shadowhunter might someday change his mind worth it if it means feeling this shitty all the time?

If Alec goes through with his wedding before either of them refuse the bond, it definitely won’t be worth it. The thought makes Magnus shudder. He’s witnessed what happens to a Fated pair when one of them marries someone else and vividly remembers their screams of agony as their marks are forcefully removed from their bodies – a punishment from the Angel for ignoring the gift of their choice. As much as he hopes that Alec will change his mind and forget this farcical engagement, he doesn’t want to think about what would happen if Alec doesn’t choose against the bond and still goes through with his wedding. And while he knows that the simple solution is to refuse the bond himself, he still can’t seem to bring himself to do it.

To refuse Alec would mean lying to himself about his feelings, and he’s done enough of that for a lifetime.

The sudden sound of his phone ringing startles Magnus from his thoughts. His phone has been eerily silent since Alec told him about his engagement as if the awfulness of his revelation unravelled not only in his and Alec’s relationship but in all of Magnus’ other friendships. He’s slightly apprehensive as he checks his phone, worried that it might be Alec, but the prospect of interaction with another person overpowers his fear. Thankfully, it turns out to be Isabelle calling.

“Hi, Isabelle,” he says as he answers.

 _“Magnus, hey,”_ she says. Her voice sounds hollow and distant, and Magnus wonders if she’s been crying.

“You’re not hurt are you?” he asks. “Did something go wrong with the plan?”

He thinks about all of the ugly emotions that he’s just had to experience – Alec’s jealousy, pain, anger, hurt – was that because Isabelle and the others had succeeded or because they hadn’t?

“I’m fine,” she replies. “The plan was a success. Jace and Clary are taking Meliorn back to the Seelie Realm as we speak and I was actually on my way to the Institute, but I just… Look, I’m outside your apartment right now. Is there any chance I could come up?”

“Of course, my dear,” says Magnus, snapping his fingers as he does to clear away the clutter that has accumulated over the past few days. “I’ll open for you right away.”

Vanishing the last of his mess to his bedroom, he goes to open the front door and finds and exhausted-looking Isabelle waiting there.

“Sorry for showing up unannounced like this, Magnus,” she says softly, almost embarrassed. “I just don’t know who else I can talk to right now.”

From the faint grey tracks down her cheeks, he sees for certain now that she’s been crying, though he would never be able to tell by anything else in her expression. Her eyes are tired but filled with a quiet anger so raw that Magnus doesn’t know how to go about comforting her. Shadowhunters aren’t known for showing signs of weakness, so he has no idea what to do now that he's confronted with one. After a brief inner debate, he decides that offering Isabelle a hug can’t do any harm and to his surprise it works. She crosses the short distance between them and wraps her arms around him and Magnus holds her tight, giving her a chance to process what she’s feeling.

“I’m more than happy to talk about anything and everything you need to,” he says as she lets go to look at him, “but first, let’s get some tea into you.”

A few minutes later, the two of them are sitting on Magnus dark balcony, hands clasped around steaming mugs of oolong, taking the occasional sip as they stare out at the city skyline and watch the small pinpricks of light from cars and busses crossing the Brooklyn Bridge grow smaller the further away they go.

“What’s it like to be a Downworlder, Magnus?” asks Isabelle, finally breaking the silence.

“That’s a very subjective question. Different Downworlder sects have vastly different experiences,” he replies, startled by the question. There’s so much he could unpack that he’s not sure where to start.

“I realise that,” she says, twisting her mug in her hands. “I just… we’re taught all this history from a young age. We’re taught that Nephilim are good because we’re half angel and that Downworlders are inherently inclined to evil because of their demon blood. I’ve always thought it was bullshit, so I guess I’m just trying to understand things from your point of view. Because at the moment it seems like my people are the ones screwing everything up and Downworlders are the ones fighting to fix it.”

“You forget, my dear, that Shadowhunters and most Downworlders are also part Mundane. God knows that there’s both light and darkness to be found even without the influence of angel and demon blood.” Magnus runs his thumb along the ear of his mug. Isabelle wants to understand and he wants her to understand, so he chooses his words carefully. “I won’t lie and say that living as a Downworlder is easy – I’ve lived through centuries of pain and heartbreak few can imagine. But as a Warlock, especially a High Warlock, I’m also aware that I’m in a position of privilege in the Downworld. The Clave and I are never going to be on each other’s Christmas card lists, you understand, but for the most part they trust me and are willing to pay for my services. It’s not always like that with other sects. Werewolves and Vampires are far stronger than the Nephilim will ever be and, though they follow the Accords, they govern each other with their own cultural codes and as a result, your kind scrutinises their movements far more than it should. You trust Seelies even less. Despite your shared angelic bonds, their demon blood makes them distant and alien to your kind. As much as your Clave hates to admit it, you lean far more heavily on that which makes you mundane than that which makes you angelic. The Seelie also keep the Accords, but they are shrewd and unpredictable which undermines the Clave’s obsession with control and order which occasionally causes them to jump to conclusions like the one they jumped to with Meliorn.”

Magnus takes a sip of his tea, watching Isabelle’s face for any sign of defensiveness, of wanting to argue in favour of her people, but she seems to be drinking in his words with a genuine desire to learn from his perspective. He’s known precious few Shadowhunters throughout his life who have ever taken an interest in understanding life from a Downworlder’s perspective, and most of them are from the current batch of young Nephilim. Maybe things in the Shadoworld are changing after all.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Isabelle, the life of a Downworlder is one of secrecy and anxiety – of having to watch not only your own actions but those of your peers in the fear that something they do might put your kind at risk. It’s being told your whole life – for centuries in some cases – that no matter how much you help, no matter how much goodness and kindness and mercy and light you show, you will always be an inferior being – a mistake of the universe, a problem to be managed.”

“It shouldn’t be like that.” Isabelle shakes her head. “None of us asked to be made what we are. We’re being drawn into a war over something that shouldn’t even matter.”

He regards her for a moment before an idea occurs to him.

“Isabelle, just for my own interest’s sake, does any of this have to do with losing your soul mark?”

“Only a tiny amount. I’m mostly just sick of the Clave’s bullshit,” says Isabelle. “In any case, my mark isn’t lost anymore.”

“But you said –“

“It was Simon. You know, Clary’s friend? He was turned by Camille the night before we spoke, so when we spoke he was dead. Clary had the choice to stake his heart that night or let him complete his transformation and she let him transform. It was only later when Alec pointed out that it was glowing gold that I put two and two together.”

“Well, shit,” says Magnus, picking up his tea to take a sip.

“Well, shit indeed,” says Isabelle. “It’s great to have clarity on it and all, but I just feel so bad for him. He used to be so normal, you know? He was so full of hope and optimism and love… just textbook Mundane. And tonight, he was… he’s so pale now. So drawn. He looks like he’s lived a thousand lifetimes in the last two days.”

“I’m sure he feels that way,” Magnus replies. “Did you see his mark at all? Was it shining through his clothes?”

“Not that I saw, but Raphael asked me about a mark on his side that was glowing. I don’t think he knows what it means.”

“Most Vampires don’t. It’s not common lore in their world. Soulmates are an angelic thing and Downworlder-Shadowhunter pairings are extremely rare – we’re talking a couple of cases every century. The odds of there being two cases in one family is almost unheard of. In fact, I don’t think it’s ever happened before.”

“So, what do I do then? Do I tell Simon?”

“I wouldn’t,” says Magnus with a grim smile. “I mean, I’m not going to stop you if you want to, but it sounds like he’s been through a lot in the last few days and I think finding out he has an honest-to-god soulmate might send him over the edge slightly, don’t you?”

Isabelle doesn’t say anything, just stares miserably down at her milky tea.

“Besides, I think he needs to work out whatever his feelings are towards Clary first,” Magnus says gently, placing a comforting hand on Isabelle’s forearm. “And you need to see to your feelings about Meliorn.”

“Ugh, you see, this is why Shadowhunters don’t like coming to Warlocks for advice.” Isabelle rolls her eyes then, smiling, she adds, “they’re usually right.”

“Ah, a smart Nephilim,” Magnus grins. “Maybe there’s hope for the future of the Clave after all.”

“Shut up,” laughs Isabelle. “Don’t make me regret it.”

They sip their tea in companionable silence for a while, the tension of the evening slowly leaving their bodies, before Isabelle speaks up again.

“Magnus, I know that you probably don’t have much faith that Alec might change his mind at this point, but my brother will see sense about Lydia. He’s always been able to tell the difference between following the rules and doing the right thing.”

“I wish I shared your optimism,” says Magnus dryly.

“It’s not just optimism,” says Isabelle, sitting up slightly. “I know Alec better than anyone. Better than even Jace does. He knew where Clary and Meliorn were going – he could have alerted any member of the guard unit, but he didn’t. He let them go. He hasn’t given up his own conviction completely. I think… I think he’s just scared at the moment. The world is changing faster than he can adapt to it and he’s scrambling for whatever control and normalcy he can find. But I know he’ll see sense eventually. He has to.”

She fixes him then with a look so serious that Magnus is struck with how much she actually looks like her mother.

“You can’t give up on him, Magnus,” she says. “He likes you. I mean, _really_ does – not like what he felt for Jace all those years. I know you’ve only known each other for a short time, but in that time he’s changed. He’s more confident. And yes, that might be the result of any number of things, but I think you’ve played a big part in it. I think you might have to be the one to save Alec from himself.”

“I don’t really see what I’m getting out of it, other than worry lines perhaps,” says Magnus, running his fingers lightly over his forehead.

“Well, I don’t know you well enough to say for sure, but it must be something if you’ve still got that.”

She points to his knee where his mark is glowing dully behind his jeans.

“ _Touché,_ ” says Magnus. “The truth is, Isabelle, I’m not sure I’m physically capable of giving up on Alec. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t always agree with your Angel, especially when it comes to these soul bonds, but damn if he didn’t know what he was doing with this one.”

“I hope he knows what he’s doing with mine,” says Isabelle, with a small frown, and Magnus offers her an understanding smile in return.

The sky is fading from midnight blue to cobalt as they finish the last of their tea and Isabelle sighs defeatedly.

“I have to get back to the Institute,” she says. “I’ve been gone too long already.”

Isabelle doesn’t make any move to leave though.

“Something the matter?” he asks.

“If I go back now it’s only a matter of time before they figure out that I helped Meliorn escape,” she says. “I’ll be arrested and tried for treason, stripped of my runes and left for the demons with no way to defend myself. I’ll be executed.”

“No, you won’t,” Magnus replies and at Isabelle’s confused look, he explains. “You must not have a very high opinion of me if you think that I wouldn’t try to protect you when you’ve risked everything to help one of my fellow Downworlders.”

Isabelle gapes at him as he springs to his feet and begins pacing.

“A Shadowhunter accused of a crime is entitled to a trial and legal representation of their choosing.”

“Are you trying to tell me you know a guy?”

“Yes,” says Magnus, pausing to look at Isabelle. “Me.”

“But you’re a Warlock,” says Isabelle. “The Clave would never allow it.”

“There’s no law against it. The Clave doesn’t expressly forbid a Shadowhunter from choosing representation from the Downworld. Legally, you would be well within your rights to hire me.” He sits down next to her and takes her hands in his. “And even if the trial doesn’t go the way we want it to, even if you end up being stripped of your runes and banished from your society, I promise that I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

“Why?” Isabelle asks softly.

“Because, Isabelle Lightwood, I consider you my friend. And those who know me know that there’s little I wouldn’t do to help my friends.”

“I can’t repay you,” Isabelle mutters.

“You already have,” says Magnus. “You’ve given me perspective.” He stands up again, this time pulling Isabelle to her feet too. “Now, the longer you stay away from the Institute, the worse you’ll end up making things for yourself. I’ll start working on your case immediately. If they do arrest you, send Alec to me to ask me to represent you, but make it sound like your idea. He’ll be more likely to go for it that way. We’ve got this.”

“Thanks, Magnus,” says Isabelle as they reach the front door, pulling him into a grateful hug. “I appreciate this more than you’ll ever know.”

“Take care of yourself, peppermint,” he smiles, letting go of her.

“Peppermint?” Isabelle smirks.

“Just trying it out,” Magnus replies. “I call Clary ‘biscuit’ but for you it seems a little too… I’m taking it that’s a no?”

“I could get used to it.” Isabelle gives him one last fond smile and closes the door behind her. He stands gazing at it for a moment, before rolling up his sleeves and getting to work.

He has a case to win.

***

Alec’s heart is hammering as he stands in front of the buzzer to Magnus’ apartment. He promised himself he wouldn’t come back here, not now that he’s engaged to Lydia, but he doesn’t have a choice now. He’s promised Isabelle that he would.

He presses the button next to _‘M. Bane’_ and waits for the Warlock to answer.

 _“Magnus Bane?”_ says the voice on the other side of the intercom.

“It’s Alec,” he replies and Magnus sighs dramatically as he buzzes him in. He answers the door with the same attitude, all but rolling his eyes as he invites Alec in.

“Tired of bickering over the guest list for your wedding?” Magnus asks as crosses over to his mini bar.

“I need to ask you something,” says Alec seriously, trying his hardest not to get distracted by Magnus’ graceful movements.

“Will it take long?” he asks in a bored voice. “I have a life to live and there’s not much for us to talk about.”

“It’s not about me or any of that. This is about my sister.”

“Oh I see,” says Magnus, pouring his drink into a martini glass. “Are you referring to the fact that your adorable fiancée has Isabelle on trial for treason?”

Alec doesn’t know what to say to that and he's is not altogether convinced that he’s imagining Magnus’ amusement at his speechlessness. The Warlock settles himself into the nearest armchair and Alec notes that he hasn’t offered him a drink or asked him to sit down. He’s still learning, but he knows enough to recognise when Magnus is being passive-aggressive.

“What can I do for you, Alec?”

“My sister wants you to be her defence attorney,” he says, feeling stupid even as he asks it. He knows it’s useless, that it’s against the law, but Isabelle made him promise to ask and he’s not about to start now, no matter how dumb it is. “I said I would ask. But I’m sorry to bother you. I know a Downworlder can’t defend a Shadowhunter in court.”

Alec starts walking back towards the door. He’s done what he came to do. The sooner he can get away from Magnus, his amused smirk, his cat-like grace and the scent of the citrusy cologne that’s filling his head, the better.

“But a Shadowhunter accused of a crime can choose any advocate,” says Magnus, and Alec stops in his tracks turning slowly to face him.

“That _can’t_ mean a Downworlder,” he says incredulously.

“The Clave was so rigid and prejudiced back in what they call the ‘Time of Angels’ that they didn't dream of a Shadowhunter asking a Downworlder for help. They didn't even bother to exclude us.” Magnus stands up to make his way closer to him. “So, since as you all say: _‘the law is the law’,_ ” he says, and Alec can’t stop the quirk of his lips at Magnus’ impression of an ancient bureaucratic Shadowhunter, “there’s nothing stopping me from slipping through this gaping loophole…for the right price.”

Hope flares up inside him. Magnus has been alive for centuries. He probably knows the Law and the Accords better than anyone. If hiring Magnus means that he can save his sister, he’ll pay anything.

“Name it,” Alec shrugs.

“You,” says Magnus with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “In fact, I’ll do you pro bono.”

Alec tries to school his expression, but he knows he can’t hide the embarrassed smile that creeps into his features, nor the blush that floods his cheeks.

“Anything else,” he says, trying to rescue the situation.

“What else is important to you?” says Magnus, his glittering eyes calculating. “What else tells me that your sister means enough for you to make a real sacrifice?”

He pauses for a moment, before turning around to face Alec. “Oh I know – your bow and quiver, how about that?”

Alec’s immediate thought is _‘no way’._ He’s never been without his bow for more than a day and with everything as crazy as it is at the moment, he wants to know that he can protect the people he loves to the best of his ability. But then, he reasons, in this case protecting the people he loves means letting go of it. Besides, he could always get another one.

Taking a deep breath, he looks Magnus in the eye.

“Done.”

*

In what feels like no time at all after that, Alec is seated at Isabelle’s trial, waiting for it to begin. A feeling of dread settles at the pit of his stomach as Magnus swears on the Soul Sword that he will defend Isabelle with honesty and integrity and though expects his nerves to settle now that the trial is underway, not even Magnus’ amazing opening statement stops the hammering of his heart. He knows the Clave, has seen them carry out the law many times, and it’s always ruthless. _The law is hard, but it is the law_ – those are the words he lives by, so why don’t they make sense when it’s Izzy on the receiving end?

What makes it worse is that, because Magnus is schooling his emotions as he focuses on the trial, for the first time in days, Alec can’t feel what he’s feeling. It only serves to drive his anxiety to its limits.

By the time his sister takes the stand, Alec’s nerves feel like they’re at their breaking point and when she starts mouthing off to Lydia and the Inquisitor during her questioning, he’s sure he’s about to pass out. She’s never been afraid to speak her mind and it’s something he’s always admired in her. Now, Alec finds himself wishing that her defining trait was self-preservation.

“I don't want Valentine to succeed,” says Isabelle indignantly when the Inquisitor implies that Isabelle wanted Valentine to steal the cup. The mood in the room changes abruptly. No one ever dared talk back to the High Inquisitor. Everyone in the room is dead still, waiting intently to see what will happen next.

“Well, that's the first sane thing I've heard from you,” says the Inquisitor. The ice in her dark eyes is met with the fire in Isabelle’s.

“You know what's insane?” says Isabelle. “Thinking we have the right to treat a Downworlder's life as worthless.”

“Isabelle,” says Lydia in a soft, but urgent voice, “I should warn you that everything you say here will be considered in the verdict.”

“Good,” says Isabelle, standing up to address everyone in the room. “Consider this. Valentine didn't come out of nowhere. We use our angel blood to justify everything we do just like him. Like him, we forget that we are not only angels. We are part Mundane. We can be afraid, and fear makes us cruel, and we turn our fear to Downworlders just as Valentine did. And just as he did we will end up turning on each other.”

“You think we're doing that to you?” The High Inquisitor asks Isabelle.

“You have to answer that for yourself, Madam Inquisitor,” she replies in a voice like a steel blade – cold and cutting.

As she takes her seat, not a single person is moving. The tension is thick and suffocating, and though Alec isn’t sure if it’s possible to die from anxiety, he’s certain that this is the closest he’ll get to finding out for himself.

And then, like a rush of fresh air, Alec feels his body fill with Magnus’ emotions again and the Warlock’s determination, pride, and affection feel like a warm, comforting presence, offering Alec the reassurance he needs. Trembling slightly, he watches as Magnus slowly turns to look at him with soft and authoritative eyes. Though Alec has no idea how, he actually hears what they’re saying.

_I’ll protect her, Alec, no matter the outcome. I promise you that I won’t let anything happen to her._

This has to be a new ability from their soul bond, but far from finding it annoying like he initially found the empathy tether, he finds this one soothing and helpful.

Though he’s not sure how it works, he’s determined to reply and Alec stares back into Magnus’ eyes, concentrating his every thought on one single idea.

_Thank you, Magnus._

***

Magnus has been so determined to dislike Lydia, to see her as just another pet of the Clave, hell-bent on carrying out its orders without a thought to how it might affect the Shadoworld at large. But as she takes the stand at his request, as he begins questioning her, he sees something shift behind her eyes – a battle between following the law and doing what is right.

He’s surprised when she chooses what is right.

For the first time since meeting her, Magnus sees traces of Henry Branwell in her and he realises that he can’t hate her. She’s just misguided and bound to the law as much as Alec is. What she has shown, however, is that she can stand up to it, that she doesn’t have to live in fear of it, and Magnus’ reckless optimism flares to the surface again. There’s a small scrap of hope inside of him telling him that maybe, just maybe, her act of courage might prompt Alec to do the same.

Lydia withdraws the charges and the sudden rush of relief he feels mixes with Alec’s, making his head spin and his body feel lighter than air. They beam at each other. This, Magnus decides, is why people take the risk of falling in love. There’s something beautiful about sharing happiness with someone, especially now that that someone’s happiness was becoming more and more important to him. Magnus is so buoyed that he can’t resist flicking his finger towards his suitcase, causing his paper and a cloud of glitter confetti to stream from it.

It takes them a few moments to hear the sound of the gavel and to heed the Inquisitor’s calls for order, but as her voice carries above the noise of the crowd, silence falls in the room again.

“If you think refusing to prosecute exculpates the defendant you are wrong. She is guilty.”

Magnus’ heart drops to his stomach and Alec’s sudden spike of anxiety and anger makes it so much worse.

“The defence was correct,” the Inquisitor says as she stands to her feet. “The Clave wants the Mortal Cup. If it is returned within twenty-four hours, the ruling will be vacated. If not, Isabelle Lightwood will be stripped of her runes and exiled from the society of the Shadowhunters forever.”

Magnus can almost physically feel the finality of that last bang of the gavel and forces to fight against the hopelessness threatening to overwhelm him. He promised Alec and Isabelle that he will protect her. It will all be fine. There’s still every chance that they could still get the Mortal Cup allowing Isabelle to walk free. And even if she doesn’t, he’s promised to take her in and he knows how powerful his wards are. He can’t lose his head now.

As they’re escorted back to the Library, Magnus feels Alec’s fear and anger deepen, reaching a breaking point as soon as they’re behind closed doors.

“This is such bullshit!” he yells.

“Keep your voice down, Alec,” says Magnus, throwing an anxious glance to the door. The last thing they need is Alec getting himself into trouble too. He glances around to look at Isabelle. In contrast to her brother’s seething rage, she’s quiet and resigned as she quietly perches on the edge of one of the couches, staring blankly at the opposite wall. “Now, there’s every chance we could still get the Cup back –”

“When Jace and Clary eventually decide to show up from wherever they disappeared to,” Alec interjects. “Who knows how long that might take?”

“We could try tracking them?” suggests Magnus.

“I tried that and it nearly killed both Jace and me,” Alec bites back. “I won’t risk the Cup falling into the wrong hands.”

“Alec, stop,” says Isabelle. She’s glaring up at her brother. “Stop talking like that. It isn’t you.”

“It _is_ me, Isabelle,” says Alec. “It’s me when my family gets put in danger because someone who I’m supposed to trust,  who’s supposed to be my friend, our _brother_ , betrays us to chase some random girl he’s just met.”

“Clary isn’t some random girl, Alec,” says Isabelle, standing to her feet. Even in heels, she’s tiny compared to her brother, but despite this, he takes a step back in surprise as she advances on him. “Clary is a key person in all of this. She’s Valentine’s daughter.”

“And, what, that’s supposed to make it better?”

Isabelle glares her brother into silence.

“Jace and Clary are Fated,” she says. “There’s nothing that you or I or even Magnus can do about that. That’s not how it works with Shadowhunters. They don’t get to choose like we do, so don’t make the mistake of hating them because of something that neither of them can do anything about.”

Alec glares at her and for a moment he thinks that Isabelle might yell at him again, but instead, she pulls him into a hug. Magnus feels Alec's anger melt away, leaving only love, worry and fear.

“I’m just as scared as you are,” says Isabelle against her brother’s chest, “possibly even more than you. But we need to help each other out right now, okay?”

Alec responds by holding her tighter and Magnus gives them a moment or two before speaking again.

“I wasn’t going to suggest Parabatai tracking, Alec,” he says. “I was going to suggest _Habebat_ again.”

“Like we tried with Clary?” asks Alec, letting go of Isabelle with wide eyes. “Do you think it would work?”

“If they’re not over water, I don’t see why not,” says Magnus. “Do you have something we could track him with?”

“I can get something from his room,” says Alec, already striding towards the door. “I’ll be five minutes.”

Just as he reaches it, however, there’s a knock from the other side. It’s Raj.

“Alec, I need you to come with me,” he says. “It’s urgent.”

Magnus can feel Alec’s conflict. If it’s official Clave business, he can’t really refuse to go, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to be away from Isabelle right now.

“Oh, Alec, as devastating as it undoubtedly must be to leave my presence,” Magnus says in a dramatic voice, “I think you’d better go with him. I know how testy the Clave gets when it's kept waiting.”

“Careful, Warlock,” says Raj irritably. “You were invited here and can be uninvited at any time.”

Magnus isn’t paying attention to him. He’s looking intently into Alec’s eyes, concentrating on what he would say if there was no one else in the room.

_I’ve got Isabelle, don’t worry about her. Go find out what they want and then get something to track Jace with on your way back._

Alec’s brow furrows for a moment, but he nods and follows Raj out of the room.

“That was some intense eye-contact,” says Isabelle with raised eyebrows.

“ _Intelligentia_ ,” Magnus explains, “the communication tether. I was wondering when it was going to kick in.”

“Soulmate perks?” she asks.

“Yeah.” He offers Isabelle a small smile and she returns it, but Magnus notices that it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

She settles back down on one of the couches as Magnus paces the room, curiously inspecting the books and unusual objects littered around the shelves. Titles like _A Brief and Concise History of the Downworld_ and _The Hillwater Definitive Guide to Downworlder Customs, Culture and Law_ catch his eye for their stuffy titles and he pokes at an ugly and ancient-looking dagger with Enkeli runes inscribed on its hilt. As his own apartment is full of mementoes from his many years of life, he can’t begrudge Shadowhunters their relics, but at least Magnus has the sense to only keep the objects that are aesthetically pleasing.

At around seven minutes, Magnus gets tired of looking around the room and settles himself down on the opposite couch to Isabelle, who is leaning forward, elbows on her knees, as she stares at the rug on the floor. Somewhere else in the building, Alec seems to be going through an ordeal of his own. There’s a brief wash of relief which quickly becomes replaced with spite and anger. Magnus has no way of telling what’s actually happening, so all he can do is wait.

At twenty minutes, Isabelle begins pacing the room and Magnus' eyes follow her for a while. She looks as tired and drawn as he feels and once again Magnus is overcome by a fierce surge of protection. He knows that what he’s facing isn’t easy. Keeping an exiled Shadowhunter from harm is far easier said than done. He has to take into consideration that the strength of the wards around his home will probably have to double. He’ll have to carefully monitor who he lets into his apartment. If she wants to go somewhere, he’ll need to prepare a portal for her. It’s going to take a good amount of his magic and energy to keep it up, but he’s willing to do it to keep Isabelle safe and to set Alec’s mind at ease.

Feeling antsy, Magnus stands up again, crossing over to the fireplace to inspect the mantelpiece. He knows he should comfort Isabelle, offer her some words of encouragement, but he’s afraid that anything he says now will sound hollow and insincere. Her whole life might be about to change. She might lose every friend she’s ever made and might never be able to see her family again. What could he say that wouldn’t sound cloying and fake?

Unable to resist the compulsion any longer though, Magnus turns to look at Isabelle.

“I’m sorry we lost the case,” he says, walking over to her and Isabelle stops her pacing.

“Yeah,” she says softly and then, looking up at him with the barest hint of amusement on her face, she adds, “but at least we lost it in style.”

This is why he loves the Nephilim. They could be facing the worst outcome imaginable and yet they would face it with their unique brand of grim determination and dark humour. Magnus smiles fondly back at her, but it fades a second later when he hears footsteps approaching the door.

It’s Alec. His face is sombre and his brow knitted, so clearly whatever he's been doing hasn’t gone well. Magnus immediately begins running through the list of things that he needs to do to his apartment before Isabelle can move in with him. But then Alec’s face breaks into the smallest of smiles and Magnus knows everything is okay, that Jace and Clary are back and that the Cup is safely under Clave control.

“You were right, they came back. You knew,” says Isabelle, her eyes lighting up as she rushes to hug her brother.

Alec and Magnus’ eyes meet again, but this time Magnus can’t think of anything to say. He’s just so relieved that Isabelle has her freedom and that Alec won’t have this enormous worry hanging over him anymore.

“Well, I didn’t actually,” says Alec and the wide grin across his normally serious face completely transforms it. This Alec looks softer and warmer and Magnus wonders how many people ever get to see him like this. He must be one of a handful.

“Well, my work is done here,” he says. Though he doesn’t really want to leave, Alec and Isabelle need time to talk and process what they’ve been through. But there’s something they need to sort out first. Looking at Alec with a small smile, Magnus says, “Walk me out, will you? We have some business to settle.”

They walk to the weapons room in silence and Magnus can feel the sense of loss settling on Alec already. Magnus knew exactly what he was asking for when the named Alec’s weapon of choice as his payment – he remembers Alec, in a haze of martinis and daiquiris, admitting that it’s the only weapon that makes him feel as talented in combat as Jace and Isabelle. The fact that he’s following through on his word despite the cost, fills Magnus with faith that Alec will realise that there are things worth giving up and that there are people worth giving them up for.

“As promised,” says Alec, handing over the bow and quiver as if letting go of a lifeline, “payment in full. Thank you.”

Magnus smiles back at him and turns to head home. He’d briefly considered confronting him about Lydia again but decided against it at the last moment. As he feels a heaviness settle in Alec though, Magnus changes his mind and, determined to give it another shot, he turns back to Alec.

“I just want you to know that Lydia was wonderful in court,” he says. “She’s great.”

“So you get it,” says Alec, with a faint trace of a smile that knocks most of the air from Magnus’ lungs. He’s starting to lose patience.

“No, Alec, I get _her_ ,” he says walking back towards him, trying to keep the annoyance in his voice to a minimum, “I _like_ her. But you don’t have to _marry_ her.”

“Yes, I _do_ , Magnus,” says Alec defensively.

“You’ll be lonely all your life and so will she. Neither of you deserves it.” Alec’s eyes dart away from Magnus’. “And I don’t either.”

Magnus punctuates this honest statement by allowing himself to feel every scrap of hope he’s holding onto and every fresh wave of frustration he’s experiencing. As Alec’s eyes slowly move back to his, Magnus pours every fibre of concentration he can into making sure that Alec clearly hears what he’s saying.

_It would physically pain me to see you unhappy for the rest of your life, Alec. Please think carefully about what you’re doing._

Alec stares at him and Magnus is unsure of whether he can’t speak or won’t speak. His emotions are all over the place making them too difficult to read, and Magnus understands Alec enough to know when to back off.

“I don’t know what to do with these,” he says, offering Alec’s weapons back to him. “You keep them for me.”

Alec hesitates for a moment and then takes them from Magnus. He can see how hard Alec is working to keep his emotions in check, but Magnus can feel them all the same – his frustration, his gratitude, and his remorse. Magnus could point it out to Alec, he could tell him that there’s no point in pretending that he doesn’t feel what he’s feeling, he could remind him of the almost-kiss a few nights back and of the fact that it was Alec who kissed his forehead.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns around again and makes his way home, empty-handed.


	5. Chapter 5

Alec wasn’t sure if the Clave would allow Lydia and him to go away on honeymoon with Valentine still at large, but with the Mortal Cup securely in Clave control again, they’ve granted them a week off with permission to portal to any country they choose, provided they keep their lines of communication open. As this will hardly be a normal honeymoon he can’t see why they would ever be unreachable. This is first and foremost a strategic marriage, so their time away together will likely be spent just talking, getting to know each other and slowly building their relationship. There won’t be any need for them to turn off their comms.

If he’s honest, he’s looking forward to getting away for a while, to not having any duties or responsibilities weighing down on him, to living under a different sky and to having just a few days where his biggest concern would be what tourist attraction he and Lydia would visit that day. It’s a small blip of joy on the radar of what is shaping up to be a really shitty week.

All that remains is for Alec to actually talk to Lydia about it, which is why he now finds himself searching nearly every room in the Institute, though without much success so far. No one seems to know where she is, though everyone claims to have seen her that morning. Eventually he remembers that Lydia said something briefly that morning about wanting to talk to Clary and figuring that she might know where Lydia is, Alec makes his way to the Infirmary. He at least knows where to find Clary.

When Alec arrives, both she and Luke are in their usual places at her mom’s side.

“I’m looking for Lydia. Have you seen her?” he asks awkwardly as they turn to look at him, shaking their heads. He feels terrible for interrupting their time with Jocelyn. “I don’t mean to interrupt or anything.”

“No, stay for a minute,” says Clary quickly.

“I’ve got to get back to the station,” says Luke to Clary. “Call me if anything changes?”

“Yeah,” smiles Clary. Luke pats Alec on the shoulder in greeting before leaving the room and Alec is struck again by how bizarre it is that he’s now on such friendly terms with so many Downworlders.

It’s the first time since the night that they helped Magnus heal Luke that he and Clary have spoken alone and it’s also the first time since he’s known her that he has to admit he doesn’t hate her. So, instead of making an excuse to follow Luke out of the room like he had initially planned, Alec finds himself climbing the steps to stand next to her on the raised platform.

“So how is she?” he asks, looking down at Jocelyn who looks like something out of a fairytale as she floats fast asleep in the magical field surrounding her.

“Same, I guess,” says Clary in a resigned voice full of emotion and exhaustion. He’s struck by the weird new sensation of actually feeling sorry for her.

She turns to face him with a strange expression and he braces himself for what’s about to happen as best he can. He doesn’t know her well enough to predict where this might be going.

“Alec, I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on things. Actually we never see eye-to-eye on anything.” _Because you’re so tiny,_ he thinks to himself, half tempted to say it out loud to dispel the weird atmosphere of sincerity that Clary has initiated. “But I do want to thank you for everything you’ve done to get my mom back.”

For a moment, Alec is rendered speechless. He hadn’t been expecting a thank you – an apology, perhaps, but certainly not anything like Clary recognising his contribution to helping her find her mother.

He knows now that he can’t avoid doing the same.

“Actually, I should thank you,” he says. “I don’t know what would have happened to Isabelle after the trial if you hadn’t brought back the Cup. You saved my sister, so thank you.”

“My whole world turned upside-down, but um, you and I thanking each other? That’s… that’s too much.” She laughs softly and Alec smiles back at her, fully aware of the fact that it’s likely the first time he’s ever shown her any kind of friendliness. Even though he’s long since resigned himself to the fact that Clary is now likely a permanent fixture in their lives (especially with it transpiring that she and Jace are siblings), he finds that the prospect doesn’t seem as awful as it once did.

Alec’s phone chirps in his pocket, breaking the moment. It’s been ringing non-stop all day with wedding business and he’s been mostly ignoring it, but as it might be Lydia this time, he pulls it out to take a look.

It does turn out to be a text from Lydia apologising for not getting in touch with him sooner and explaining that she’s out on a mission, but that’s not what catches his eye. Just below Lydia’s is a text from Magnus. It was sent five minutes ago, probably while he was talking to Hodge, which was why he hadn’t heard it come in.

**_Alexander, I’d like to speak to you – my apartment as soon as possible. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it brief. I know you must be dreadfully busy picking out flower arrangements._ **

_There’s no need to be so snarky,_ he thinks, though he doesn’t think it’s likely that Magnus heard him. He’s still unsure as to how this particular tether of their bond works.

“Magnus needs to speak with me,” he says to Clary and, catching the briefest glint of knowing amusement in her eyes, he immediately begins explaining himself. “He might have some information on how to wake your mother up or stop Valentine and it’s important.”

“Yeah,” agrees Clary. He knows he’s not convincing her, that it’s their argument about his feelings for Jace all over again, and even though he’s actively avoiding looking at her, he can sense the quirk of her lips.

Deciding not to dwell on the fact that Clary seems to know about the feelings he thought he was doing an alright job of hiding, he leaves for Magnus’.

He’s spent the last twenty four hours actively avoiding thinking about the Warlock, and though nearly impossible to do perfectly, with all the wedding preparation going on around him, it’s been easier than usual. The arrival of the wedding décor and the first of their guests has been a tangible reminder of where his priorities are supposed to be. In less than two days, Lydia will be his wife. He can’t afford any distractions now. He can’t afford to get cold feet. He’s made his choice and he’s going to go through with it.

Unfortunately, however, he still hasn’t been able to bring himself to call on Raziel to remove his soul mark and if Magnus is to be believed, failing to do so before Lydia marks him at his wedding would result in a painful and unpleasant forced removal. He knows he needs to gather his courage and resolve and just get it over with, but every time he tries he chickens out at the last minute.

He reaches Magnus’ front door to find it slightly ajar and Alec’s mind immediately jumps to the worst conclusion. Memories of the night he and Magnus met – of murdered and severely injured Warlocks lying motionless like ragdolls and of the gloating circle member threatening Magnus with mutilation – fill Alec with an icy dread until he remembers that Magnus’ house is protected by some of the most powerful wards magically possible and that the only reason the circle members got in that night was because Magnus’ wards were down. Magnus was expecting him and had probably left the door open for the sake of convenience.

He walks cautiously into the flat nevertheless.

“Hello. Magnus?” he says in a loud voice as he enters the living room. If there are intruders, it would be far better to draw them out than to go looking for them. “You said you needed to talk to me.”

“Nice to see you, Alec,” says Magnus’ voice from the direction of his bedroom and Alec turns to see him smiling with a glass of red wine in his hand. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

Alec reaches out a hand to put a stop to the flirting he can see threaded into the smirk on Magnus’ face, but his plan is quickly derailed when Magnus clicks his fingers and a glass of red wine glass appears in Alec’s hand.

“You know how I hate to drink alone,” he says, reaching forward to clink their glasses together and Alec pulls his glass back before he can, setting it down on the nearest surface.

“I didn’t come here to drink,” he says sternly, turning to look at Magnus again. “Do you have any information –“

“…on the Warlock who cast a spell on Jocelyn?” Magnus interrupts impatiently. “I’m looking into it. But we never really finished our conversation after Izzy’s trial – about your wedding?”

“There’s no conversation to be had. I’m getting married.” Alec really doesn’t have the time or the energy to deal with this now. “You and I, we understand marriage very differently. I’m a Shadowhunter. This is about family, tradition, honour…”

“Honour?” Magnus asks, his eyebrows furrowing. “Where’s the honour in living a lie?”

“What are you talking about?” Alec asks. His heart is hammering.

_Please don’t do this now, Magnus. I can’t handle this now._

“What about love?” he asks. “Even Shadowhunters fall in love, Alec. Just tell me you’re in love with Lydia and I’ll stop.”

“Love?” says Alec incredulously. “Magnus, it’s barely been a week –“

“…is my first point,” Magnus interjects. “You’re pledging to spend your whole life with someone you hardly know. Sure there can be mutual respect, maybe even attraction, but there’s no way that you can tell me that it’s love.”

“So? That’ll come later. I’ll grow to love her,” says Alec. The words sound feeble, even to him.

“And I have no doubt you will. Lydia is a lovely person,” Magnus says. “But in what way, Alec? You can love someone dearly, even with all your heart, but not be _in love_ with them. Not if you’re not attracted to them. Not if there’s no spark. Can you see yourself ever falling in love with her? What if she falls in love with you – will you feel the same way?”

“I don’t know,” says Alec in frustration. “Why are you always pushing? You’re just... you’re confusing me.”

He’s looking at Alec with a fire in his eyes that reminds him of just how powerful Magnus is, of how much he’s seen, how much he’s lived through.

“Confusion is part of it. That’s how you find out if something’s there.” He’s is striding towards Alec now, stopping close enough that Alec can see the faint shimmer of the dark eye shadow he’s wearing. “Emotions are never black and white. They’re more like symptoms.”

Alec is light-headed, but it’s no longer from anger or frustration – it’s because of Magnus, because of the way that he makes existing in the same atmosphere thrilling and impossible at the same time. He’s sure that Magnus can sense his dilemma, that that’s what’s causing the smirk on his face as he stalks around Alec like a cat claiming its owner.

“You lose your breath every time they enter a room.” Magnus’ voice is dark and low, making Alec’s hair stand pleasantly on end and it’s only by a strong force of will that he manages to tear his eyes away from him. A second later, Magnus snaps his fingers and Alec’s hand is pulled irresistibly up like a marionette’s to rest over his racing chest. “Your heart beats faster when they walk by…” Alec forces his arm back down and sets his jaw. He can’t lose his resolve now.

Magnus’ voice is a soft purr as he crosses behind Alec.

_“Your skin tingles when they stand close enough to feel their breath.”_

He punctuates this last point with a soft puff of air that Alec realises contains magic when it pleasantly ignites every nerve it touches.

He has all of the symptoms, he knows he can’t deny it, and what makes it worse is the knowledge that Magnus has the symptoms too. He knows that Magnus’ breath catches in his throat when he sees Alec, knows that his heart races when Alec is around, that his breath causes the same unavoidable thrill down Magnus’ spine. He can feel the attraction and desire that Magnus feels for him.

It would be so easy to fall in love with Magnus, to take a leap off of this ledge into the world of the unknown, to think about nothing but this moment, nothing but the two of them. But as much as he feels every fibre of his being pulling towards Magnus, feels the insistent magic drawing them closer, Alec can’t give in. The cost of choosing Magnus is too high and he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to pay it.

After gritting his teeth, forcing himself to listen to logic and reason over his unreliable emotions, he turns slowly to face Magnus again. He’s made up his mind now and nothing is going to change it.

“I know you feel what I feel, Alec,” says Magnus. His dark eyes are hopeful, determined and searching and Alec knows that his only chance of resisting them is to somehow learn to hate Magnus, to force himself to despise him.

“You don’t have any clue what I feel,” Alec retorts, his voice shaking with emotion despite his efforts to keep it level, “so back off.”

He turns and makes his way across the living room towards the door, but stops at the bitter anger and pain now creeping into every part of him. Surprised, he looks back at Magnus.

“I think you’ll find that I _do_ know what you feel,” he says darkly, “and that you know what I feel. And that there’s a reason for that, Alec.”

Magnus’ emotions are so overwhelming that they render Alec speechless, and Magnus takes the opportunity to make his thoughts known.

“Your Angel, not mine, looked at the two of us and for reasons neither of us may ever fully understand, decided to put us together. Do you think I wanted this? My life was perfectly comfortable before all this happened. I was quite happy with my apartment and my cats and the company of my Downworlder friends. Then, out of the blue, I have this mark on my knee that I didn’t ask for – one that means that I’m supposedly meant to be with a Nephilim. At the time I couldn’t imagine anything worse.”

Magnus is walking towards him now and Alec isn’t sure he’ll ever get over how he manages to look so young and vulnerable, yet at the same time, so wise and all-powerful.

“But then I actually met you, Alec, and I…” he pauses for a moment, trying to regain his control again. “You weren’t what I expected in the best possible way. You were brave and selfless and good – all the things that your kind are advertised to be but rarely are. And when I found out you have the mark that matches mine... I just… I don’t know what to do now, Alec. I have this mark and so do you, but you can’t seem to make up your mind about whether you want it or not. I know that, in theory, I could be the one to tell your Angel that I don’t want this, but I would be lying to Raziel, to you, to myself. The truth is that I don’t… I don’t want to lose what this could be. What _we_ could be. I’m not going to lose hope until there’s no hope left to lose.”

Alec is suddenly furious. It’s so easy for Magnus to make pretty speeches about what might happen if they chose each other, but he has unlimited lifetimes – countless years in which to find new people to toy with, new occupations to keep him entertained. Alec only has this – just this one life that, as a Shadowhunter warrior, he has no idea how long will be. What does Magnus know about the inevitability of the grave, of having a set number of days in which to make something of himself, of knowing that each tick of the clock brings him closer to non-existence, to becoming just a memory?

“This is all just a game to you, isn’t it?” he asks Magnus angrily. “You flirt, you laugh, you use magic – but at the end of the day what do you risk? Even if I did feel something for you, you want me to give up my life for you? I have to do what’s right for me. I could lose my family, my career. _Everything._ You just don’t get it.”

“No, Alec, _you_ don’t get it,” says Magnus, emotion shaking in his voice now too. “The Angel doesn’t choose people at random. He chooses souls that will bring out the best in each other for the purpose of fulfilling their destiny. The fact that we share marks means that we would bring out the best in each other. It’s a guarantee of a life that’s worth living, of having a life that will count for something.”

“The Angel isn’t always right, Magnus!” says Alec, furiously. “You want to know what Clary and Jace have just below their collar bones? The Nephilim version of the same goddamn rune we’ve been hiding for the last four years. You want to know something else about Clary and Jace, Magnus? They’re siblings. _Related._ For them to be fated to each other is either a sick, twisted joke on the Angel’s part, or he’s not always right. Maybe he makes mistakes.”

“You think he made a mistake with us?” asks Magnus, his voice colder now than Alec has ever heard it before.

“Maybe I do,” he bites back.

“Well, then, you know what you need to do then, don’t you?” asks Magnus, his words dripping with venom. “Just one little prayer and I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

“Fine. _Fine_ ,” says Alec, throwing himself into the nearest seat and placing a hand over his mark. He fights not to crumble beneath the sudden spike of fear he feels from Magnus.

“No, fuck, Alec, I didn’t mean it,” he says, rushing over to him. “Please not like this. Not in anger. Once the bond is gone, it’s gone. I don’t know of any way to restore it if you change your mind.”

“Good thing I won’t then,” glares Alec.

The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is Magnus’ face, hurt, drawn, and pale, but instead of pitying him for it, he lets it fuel his decision.

“My Lord Raziel,” says Alec in a loud, clear voice. “I call upon you now to request a severing of the bond between the Warlock, Magnus Bane, and me. Though honoured that you would elect to set me on this unique and refining path, I am afraid that the burden has become too great for me to bear. As a Shadowhunter, my family and the law of the Clave are my first priorities and I fear that being bound to a Downworlder, even one as esteemed as the High Warlock of Brooklyn, may throw these areas into turmoil. Respectfully, I ask to be released from my marks that I may take the wedding runes of my betrothed, Lydia Branwell.”

And then he opens his eyes and removes his hand from his mark.

For a few seconds nothing happens and Alec wonders if he might have said or done something wrong. But, just as he’s starting to feel the first traces of relief from Magnus, everything goes eerily still and silent. It’s as if he’s been plunged suddenly underwater. He can no longer feel Magnus’ emotions, their shared energy or the strange magnetic pull between them and he knows that Raziel has honoured his request. He and Magnus are no longer Fated.

But Alec didn’t realise how much of himself he’d poured into this and he didn’t realise how much of Magnus he’s let in over the past few years. Now, there’s nothing. It’s like he’s standing in front of a large black iron door that’s suddenly been slammed shut with no way to reach the lock to open it again.

He stands gaping at Magnus, unable to move and Magnus stares back. He doesn’t need any soul tethers to tell that the look casting a shadow across Magnus’ face is heartbreak – deep, bitter and entirely Alec’s fault.

He didn’t realise that it would be like this. He thought that, at worst, removing the bond would simply remove the mark and the abilities. He wasn’t anticipating this sudden isolation – this maddening loneliness. The last time he felt this hollow and empty was as a teenager, before the mark, and he’s realising more and more with every horrifying minute that passes, the true value of what he’s given up.

The worst of it is that even though the connection between them is gone, even though their bond has been severed, Alec’s breath is still coming out raggedly in Magnus’ presence; his heart is still drumming wildly against his chest; he still feels the ghost of Magnus’ breath against his skin. His symptoms are all still there, which means that they’re not a result of their bond, that they were never a result of their bond.

They’re because of Magnus, because he, Alec, has feelings for Magnus – real feelings that have nothing to do with a magical series of lines on his skin and everything to do with who the heartbroken man in front of him is.

Alec doesn’t know what to say to him now. He’s not sure there’s anything he can say. All he can do is head back to the Institute and prepare for his wedding.

After all, what choice does he have?

***

Losing Ragnor the day after he loses Alec is the universe at its most cruel.

Of all the things that have changed in the last few weeks, he never could have imagined that one of them would be living in a world without Ragnor Fell, and yet here he is, having performed the _Vale_ ritual, having burned his body, now facing the prospect of the centuries to come without his friend. By the time Magnus portals all of Ragnor’s possessions to New York, he’s too exhausted to do much more than drink and stare glumly at the stacks of books and boxes of antique trinkets that his friend acquired over his many years of life.

He wakes up late the next day (the day of Alec’s wedding, Magnus realises with a groan), and after a shower and a good breakfast, he finds that he’s summoned enough motivation to tackle the task of sorting through Ragnor’s possessions to find something that might help him locate the Book of the White. Much of the afternoon is spent shifting around the piles of familiar books, unpacking and repacking odd objects and ornaments and poring over old paintings and photographs. He works tirelessly and relentlessly, only stopping when he sees that Isabelle has texted him.

**_Magnus, I know that I’m probably one of the last people you want to hear from right now, but if there’s any chance you feel that you could give Alec a second chance, please accept this invitation to the ceremony tonight. Guests arrive at 8:30 pm and they’re marking each other at exactly 9 pm._ **

**_You might find this hard to believe right now but Alec is heartbroken too. I don’t think he realised what he was giving up and I can’t remember him ever looking so defeated. If there’s any chance you still have feelings for him, please don’t let him throw his future and his happiness away like this. - Iz x_ **

Magnus stares at his phone for a moment or two before fetching himself a bottle of liquor and pouring himself a generous helping.

He could go to the wedding, of course. He could put everything on the line to give Alec one last chance. But the idea of Alec looking him in the eye and choosing Lydia again, this time permanently and publically, fills him with a dread that he’s not sure he can face.

All motivation to search through Ragnor’s possessions has left him and as he sits swilling his Scotch around his glass miserably, he hopes that if he sits still for long enough, he’ll stop existing for a while.

As Magnus stares listlessly at the objects in front of him, his eyes settle on a long-forgotten photo album. He feels a lump rise in his throat as he reaches for it. On a page near the middle is a sepia-toned, Victorian picture of him, Ragnor and Camille. Even after all this time and all that’s happened between them, he can’t help but marvel at how beautiful she was. Still is, he presumes, though he hasn’t seen her in years.

He remembers that night so vividly – the euphoria of being around her, the emerald of her dress against her pale skin, the hypnotic scent of her spicy floral perfume as they danced together for song after song, the certainty that he’d found someone with whom he could share his forever and the crushing realisation that she would never see him that way.

“Oh I _loathe_ that photograph,” says a familiar but impossible voice behind him “I must remember chin down, eyes up. Otherwise I look like a squinty toad.”

 _It can’t be,_ Magnus thinks to himself and yet as he turns around to look, he sees Ragnor smiling back at him as if nothing has changed.

“You’re here,” says Magnus, and the shock on his face only makes Ragnor’s smile widen.

“You didn’t think you would be rid of me that easily did you?” He leans towards Magnus and places a hand on his cheek and though his touch is cold and barely there, the gesture still fills Magnus with warmth. “Oh, my dear friend, I will _always_ be here for you. Now please, put away that horrid photograph. It commemorates a night I’d rather forget. Oh, how I had to comfort you.”

“How I loved her,” says Magnus, smiling sadly down at the picture as Ragnor sprawls across the armchair opposite him. “I prayed she would love me the same but she just laughed. To Camille, immortals aren’t supposed to feel true love. She believed it to be the frivolous occupation of Mundanes and Nephilim. She was so cynical.”

Ragnor is looking at him sadly and Magnus is hardly surprised to see that even though he died yesterday and his problems are arguably bigger, he’s still more concerned about Magnus than he is about himself. That’s always been the way with Ragnor. Though Magnus has never had siblings, he imagines that for a good few years of his life, he’s known what it’s like to have an older brother.

“Camille broke my heart,” he shrugs, staring down at the photograph again.

“You _let_ her break your heart, my friend,” says Ragnor, sitting up again. “You’re immortal, but she killed you.”

And when Magnus looks up to meet his friend’s eyes, Ragnor has vanished, leaving his apartment silent and empty once more.

Before Magnus fully realises what he’s doing, his phone is in his hand and he’s calling Alec. Maybe he can change his mind. Maybe he can stop him from throwing his life away. For a moment, Magnus is overwhelmed by the urge to hear Alec’s deep, comforting voice, but he panics as soon as he hears the first ring and hangs up.

What would he even say to him? Alec has made his decision very clear. Seeing him play happy couples with Lydia yesterday had been gut-wrenching and watching the décor for the wedding arrive, listening to them discussing greeting their guests, Lydia’s genuinely friendly smile as she said hello to him, all of it made Magnus want to portal to the furthest corner of the world away from them.

He can’t think about Alec anymore. The wedding is mere hours away but it’s no longer any concern of Magnus’. Right now, he has work to do.

After another bout of determined sorting, Magnus is sure he’s assembled pretty much every item that might help him track down the Book of the White and, satisfied with his work, he allows himself to pick up the instrument he’s been eying since he packed it into one of the boxes yesterday. He’s never been any good at playing it, but as he plucks a few of the strings, he praises himself for trying anyway.

“I wouldn't describe that as an instrument of music,” says Ragnor, lying across his sofa again, “an instrument of torture, perhaps.”

“Oh, you never liked the charango,” says Magnus in amusement.

“No, I did not, and I pray you don't play it. Death has already given me enough of a headache.”

“Do you remember Imasu?” asks Magnus, smiling fondly as he runs his fingers along the neck of the instrument. “He played this so beautifully.”

“I'm surprised that lasted as long as it did. He was always so much better looking than you,” laughs Ragnor and Magnus rewards his friend’s teasing with a tongue-in-cheek glare. “I don't understand why you didn't go after the boy. I'm certain that with very little effort, you could have won him back.”

“No, Imasu wanted more than I can give,” Magnus replies, setting the instrument aside to pour himself another drink. Imasu wanted openness, Magnus’ hopes, fears, secrets, and Magnus, at the time, was unable to offer him any of those things. Was it really so different with Alec? Given the chance, would he have been able to share everything, knowing that it might have changed the way Alec looked at him? Magnus sighs. “Maybe Camille was right. I _am_ immortal. I can party and have fun to my heart's content without the anchors of love around my feet.”

“You are not Camille,” says Ragnor sternly, “and though I know you won't believe me, someday someone will come along who will tear down those walls you've built around your heart. And when that love comes back to you, you must do everything in your power to fight for it.”

Magnus sits in stunned silence for a moment. There’s no way Ragnor can know, but Magnus’ heart has never felt less guarded than it does now. Alec has torn down walls he didn’t realise he’d put there. For the first time in centuries, he feels raw, exposed and open. It took less than two weeks for Alec to irreversibly change his life, less than two weeks to save him from an eternity of being blind to how lonely and numb he was. Magnus knows that soul marks or not, he can’t let Alec throw his life away.

Before he has time to change his mind, Magnus gets to his feet, setting his drink on the table.

“Going somewhere?” Ragnor asks, his eyes glittering with humour.

“Even in death you give the best advice,” smiles Magnus, grateful for his friend’s interference.

“Be nice if you took it more than once every three hundred years,” Ragnor laughs. Magnus turns away for a moment, trying to put into words how much his advice has meant to him over the years, but when he looks back at the armchair, Ragnor has vanished again.

He sighs heavily as he makes his way to his bedroom to get ready. Usually, he likes to take his time with his makeup, enjoying the ritual of slowly changing his appearance layer by layer. There’s no time for that now. He sends a wave of glittering blue light across his face and when he inspects himself in the mirror, he’s pleased to find that his makeup is flawless, the way it always looks when he has the precision of magic helping him. His outfit also takes little-to-no-time and as he pulls on his plum velvet jacket, the only thing that’s missing is another pop of colour. Magnus tugs at the gelled ends of his hair and smiles at how they turn the same red as his jacket. To think that people without magic have to actually pay to change the colour of their hair.

Magnus is as ready as he’ll ever be and gathering up every last scrap of his courage, he creates a portal and steps through it.

***

Alec has never been more certain in his entire life that he’s about to die of a stress-induced heart attack – even with his parents’ blessing, even with Clary’s encouraging smile, even with Jace behind him as a steady support. He’s spent much of the afternoon trying not to lose the contents of his stomach and the other half pacing restlessly, reminding himself why it’s important that he marries Lydia and trying his hardest not to think about Magnus.

It’s almost impossible not to.

The last few weeks play on loop in his mind – meeting Magnus for the first time, the tracking ritual, helping him heal Luke, their almost-kiss, Magnus promising to protect his sister in any way necessary, all their conversations, all the times that Magnus made him realise something about himself he’d never realised before, every emotion they’d felt together, every thought they’d shared. With or without their marks, Magnus is a part of him, and now as he stands at the altar in front of all of his wedding guests, he’s finding it really difficult to remember why he even wanted this in the first place.

Alec jumps slightly when Brother Jeremiah taps his staff loudly on the ground.

 _Attention,_ the Silent Brother’s voice echoes in Alec’s mind, _the ceremony is about to begin._

As the string quartet begins playing the traditional Nephilim wedding march, he’s reminded of the time that Isabelle dragged him to Coney Island and convinced him to try the Thunderbolt. He remembers the sickening feeling of being perpendicular to the ground, the rising panic as he neared the top of the rollercoaster, the numbing anxiety as his car slowly tipped over the edge of the ninety-degree drop…

He feels like that now. He feels like he’s about to plunge head-first into something way too fast, way too powerful. And while he ended up enjoying the Thunderbolt, he’s not sure that marriage is quite the same.

Isabelle steps into the centre of the aisle, carrying Lydia’s ceremonial elements on a cushion. If there’s ever a time to change his mind, it’s now, but as he watches his sister stride towards him, as he looks out at the crowd of guests, he reminds himself of why he’s going through with this. He’s marrying Lydia to save his family name and step into the leadership he knows he was born for. It’s important that he does this.

Lydia steps into the room to the sound of hushed admiration. She’s beautiful and radiant and everything that a bride should be, but the only thing Alec feels as she walks towards him is the grim realisation that Magnus was right; he’s never going to be in love with Lydia. But this is what he’s chosen and he has to go through with it now. There’s nothing else for him.

As she reaches the altar, Alec reaches out a hand to help her up the marble steps. The room is deathly quiet, save for the odd shuffling of feet and occasional cough and though he can only compare it to the few weddings he’s attended, it seems like any other ceremony: quiet, sober, reflective. Alec and Lydia turn to face each other for a moment, and then, prompted by Brother Jeremiah, Lydia turns to pick up a heavy gold bangle from the cushion Isabelle is holding. Alec holds out his wrist and, as Lydia slips it on, he tries hard not to think about how much it reminds him of a handcuff.

Alec collects Lydia’s necklace from his cushion, sure that his fingers will clumsily fumble over the fastening, but, surprisingly, he manages to get the pendant around her neck without incident. As she turns to face him again, he takes her hand and waits for the ceremony to continue.

This is the part he’s actually dreading. He’s heard that the wedded union rune is one of the most painful runes to be marked with because of its covenantal nature, but that’s not what scares him about it. He can handle pain. What he’s struggling with is the sudden realisation that this is it – that once the runes are burned into his skin, he’s bound to Lydia. To reverse the process would be agonising and humiliating for both of them and Alec knows he would never do that to her. When Lydia marks him now, his future will be set in stone.

He finds himself silently begging every power in heaven either for peace of mind about the decision he now has to make, or else for a definitive and clear sign that this is wrong and that he needs to stop before it goes any further.

He receives neither.

 _It is time for Alec Lightwood and Lydia Branwell to mark each other with the wedded union rune,_ says Brother Jeremiah. He touches his staff to the Adamas block between them, causing the shape of the rune to appear on it. _A rune on the hand, and a rune on the heart – a union is born._

Alec pushes up his sleeve to reveal a stretch of skin above his wrist large enough for Lydia to inscribe while she touches the tip of her ceremonial Stele to the rune on the Adamas block. The tip hisses and smokes at the contact, but fades as she brings it to hover just over his arm. She looks up at him then and he knows that she’s checking one last time that he’s certain this is what he wants. It’s not, he knows it’s not, but he can’t think about that now. He hasn’t received the sign he asked for, the sign that this is a mistake, so he inclines his head slightly, encouraging her to continue. She looks surprised, as if she was expecting him to change his mind, but with a steadying breath, she holds the burning tip of the Stele to his skin pulling it away not even a second later as they hear the unmistakable sounds of the Institute’s front doors opening.

Alec’s heart stops. If this is an invasion, he won’t be of any use. As both a symbol of vulnerability and a promise to keep conflict out of their marriage, Shadowhunter couples don’t carry weapons during the wedding ceremony. Unless Jace has an extra blade for him, he won’t be able to fight and protect his people.

But then the sound of the door is explained as Magnus strides into the hall, his eyes firmly fixed on Alec.

It takes Alec’s brain a few seconds to process what he’s seeing and then a few more to decide if it’s real or not. He’s vaguely aware of Jace whispering something to Isabelle and Isabelle responding, but he doesn’t hear what they’re saying. All he can see is the man Alec almost let himself fall in love with staring at him from the top of the aisle with determination and challenge etched into every aspect of his features.

Magnus is really at his wedding, and what’s more, he arrived a split-second before Lydia marked him. If this isn’t the clear sign he asked for, Alec doesn’t know what is.

His mother gets up from her seat and storms up the aisle towards Magnus.

“Magnus, leave this wedding now,” she says.

“Maryse, this is between me and your son,” he replies, holding up a hand to silence her. “I’ll leave if he asks me to.”

He takes a few more steps down the aisle and stops, his eyes not leaving Alec’s for even a second and the only coherent thought Alec manages to think is that Magnus has never looked more beautiful.

“You gonna be okay, buddy?” Jace asks in a concerned voice and Alec can’t give him an honest answer. He’s never felt less okay, less sure of himself, less able to make decisions without his emotions getting in the way. He feels like the ground is being pulled from under his feet and he has no idea where he’s going to land.

“Alec,” says Lydia, placing a hand on his arm. “Hey.”

With difficulty, he turns from Magnus to look at her. She’s smiling sweetly up at him and suddenly it’s like everything suddenly falls into place. He can’t do this to her. He can’t marry her knowing that he’ll never be able to give her what she deserves. Lydia deserves a man who will be able to give her his whole heart, someone who will love her and be _in_ love with her.

Lydia deserves someone who will feel about her the way Alec feels about Magnus.

“I just… I … I can’t breathe,” he eventually manages to say.

“I know,” says Lydia, reassuringly. “It’s okay.”

Alec takes a deep breath and admits what he should have admitted long ago.

“I can’t do this,” he says. “I thought we were doing the right thing but this isn’t it.”

“You don’t have to explain,” she says gently.

“Lydia, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” she says, smiling softly as she reaches up to touch his cheek. “You deserve to be happy, okay? I’ll be fine.”

Alec nods gratefully as she moves her hand down to his shoulder and he turns to face the rest of the room. He glances around at his guests – important members of the Clave, his co-workers, his friends, his family – and realises that he’s tired. He’s spent the first two decades of his life afraid of who he is, afraid to be himself, afraid to be anything different to what is expected of him, convinced that if he just tried a little harder, if he just stuck a little closer to the rules, who he really was would line up with who he was expected to be.

But the truth is that nothing has felt more right, more fulfilling, more freeing than the short times he’s spent with Magnus over the past while and he’s not sure anything else ever will. It doesn’t matter that they’re no longer Fated, it doesn’t matter that he has no guarantee that this will end well. He can’t keep dividing himself between the world of what they want and the world of what he wants. Everyone else gets to be themselves and he doesn’t see why it should be any different for him.

Steeling himself for what he knows is going to be the most reckless thing he’s ever done, Alec makes his way from the altar towards Magnus as his mother strides furiously towards him.

“Alec, what are you doing –“

“Enough,” says Alec, cutting her off. Enough is enough. He’s not going to deny himself anymore, not now that he’s so close to tasting proper happiness for the first time in his entire life.

As Alec nears him, Magnus takes up more and more of his vision until eventually, he’s all Alec sees. For the first time in his life, Alec is completely certain of what he wants and he’s certain that he’s going to get it. With a brief moment of incredulity at what he’s about to do, he grabs the lapels of Magnus’ jacket and crashes their lips together. There’s a short burst of panic as he realises that he has no idea what he’s doing and that Magnus, who has lived for centuries, can probably tell that he’s never done this before, but when Magnus’ lips part slightly and he returns Alec’s kiss, every thought leaves his mind.

Nothing has ever felt quite like this. It feels like Alec’s entire world has narrowed down to the feeling of Magnus’ firm and graceful hands as they settle on his waist and the way Magnus’ heartbeat is racing against his knuckles. For a moment, he’s sure that the whole thing is an elaborate trick of the universe and has to break away for a moment to check that Magnus is really there, that it’s really him that he’s kissing. But there’s no way that those beautiful, ancient eyes could belong to anyone else. He catches Magnus’ lips again, stepping closer to him, craving as much of him as he can get.

He knows now that there’s no going back. For the rest of his life, every moment of happiness will be measured against this.

A cough from somewhere in the room finally reminds Alec of where they are and he reluctantly pulls away from Magnus. It’s a good thing that the hands around Alec’s waist are gripping so tightly because he feels as if his legs are about to give way at any moment. The first inklings of anxiety kick in as the enormity of what he’s just done dawns on him, but far more powerful is his elation and euphoria at finally having done it.

He, Alec Lightwood, just kissed Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, in front of his friends, family and a good number of important Clave members, and there’s not a single thing about it he regrets.

***

Magnus didn’t realise how right Ragnor was about him being dead inside until Alec kissed him, but now it’s like every cell in his body is brand new.

He crashed the wedding with the idea that he would afford him another chance to confront Alec, to make him see sense. Never in his wildest dreams could Magnus have imagined that textbook-Shadowhunter Alexander Lightwood would march straight to him from the altar, grab him by the jacket and kiss him like Magnus can’t remember ever being kissed before.

“You never cease to amaze me, Alec,” he says trembling slightly with the adrenaline now coursing through his body.

“Yeah,” Alec replies breathlessly, his eyes wide with shock. “What did I just do?”

 _Just completely changed your life and mine forever,_ thinks Magnus to himself. _No biggie._

Alec turns to his parents and as Magnus follows his gaze, it takes a reminding himself that Alec’s family means the world to him to prevent him from grinning in satisfaction at the way Maryse is glaring at them. How two of Idris’ most bigoted expats ended up producing two of the kindest and most understanding people Magnus has ever met is something he doubts he’ll ever understand.

He’s briefly worried that seeing how much Alec’s parents disapprove of them being together might make Alec change his mind, but his fears are quietened a moment or two later when he’s reminded that for every Robert and Maryse, there’s an Isabelle.

“Alec, I’m so proud of you,” she says as she reaches the two of them and Alec’s face breaks into one of those rare brighter-than-witchlight smiles

And then, for reasons that weren’t immediately apparent to Magnus, Simon appears at Isabelle’s side.

“Guys, that was incredible,” he grins. “It was like watching a real-life version of _The Graduate_. You know, the Dustin Hoffman movie?”

Magnus listens in amusement as Simon launches into a detailed impression of the similarities between them and the film characters, and he makes sure to catch Isabelle’s eye with a look that he hopes says _‘your Fated is such a dork’_. The half-amused, half-embarrassed smile she throws back at him is almost as delightful as the sudden mental image of Simon and Isabelle in cosplay at a fan convention.

Even more delightful is the puzzled frown on Alec’s face.

“Who invited the Vampire?” he asks.

“Seriously?” Simon says, and Magnus isn’t sure if he’s more upset at being referred to as ‘the Vampire’ or the fact that Alec didn’t understand his film reference.

While Magnus knows that Isabelle and Simon are still a long way off from happening organically, he can finally see how they would work together – Isabelle offering acceptance and gentle encouragement to an awkward Simon who had to come to terms with a whole new life; Simon offering humour and a sunny, unbreakable optimism to an Isabelle that, much like her brother, was inclined to take life far too seriously.

“Simon,” says Magnus, in an attempt to rescue him from the train wreck of his conversational skills, “remind me that when things settle down again, we need to talk about that rune on your side.”

“How do you know about that?” asks Simon with wide eyes as he instinctively clutches his mark.

“The High Warlock of Brooklyn has his ways,” says Magnus in his most mysterious voice.

“That’s why his hair is so big,” Simon stage-whispers to Isabelle. “It’s full of secrets.”

Magnus laughs, but the reference is completely wasted on the Lightwoods who are wearing matching expressions of confusion.

“It’s a line from a movie,” Magnus explains to Alec. “It’s pretty funny. We could maybe watch it together sometime.”

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” smiles Alec. “I'm probably going to have to if I want to keep up with Count Dorkula over here.”

“Alec, don’t be mean,” says Isabelle, but the corners of her mouth twitch upwards in amusement.

Over Isabelle’s shoulder, Magnus spots Jace and Clary speaking alone and he excuses himself to talk to them. He knows he’s probably interrupting a private conversation, but he’s not sure when next he’ll manage to corner both of them again.

“As much as it will shock Alec, my visit tonight wasn’t all for him,” he says as he approaches them. “We need to speak privately.”

After collecting Alec (Isabelle opting instead to give Simon a guided tour of the Institute) the four of them make their way to the weapons room. As they enter, Magnus waves his hand and all the magically significant items he’d found among Ragnor’s things appear on the table in front of them. He expects it’s going to take a good few minutes to go through each object to get a sense of which one might lead them to the spell book, but Clary almost immediately spots what they’re looking for – a worn, blue fabric bookmark that she insists was in the Book of the White in the alternate dimension Meliorn sent her to. When he takes it from Clary to track it, he’s annoyed but not altogether surprised to find that it belongs to Camille.

He was wondering when his past was going to start getting in the way.

When Jace stalks off presumably to prepare for their mission to Hotel Dumort and Clary follows him a few moments later, Magnus moves closer to Alec, wanting to speak to him about everything that had happened that day and to find out where they are relationship-wise. But before he can speak, a small group of Clave members on their way back to Idris spots Alec. Magnus hangs back to give them space, not wanting to cause any further tension between Alec and his people. Their conversation is brief, to-the-point and painfully dull, but Magnus’ heart hammers the entire time, as their eyes dart apprehensively between Alec and him. He realises that this will be his and Alec’s life from now on – an endless parade of anxious glances from Nephilim who don’t trust him because he’s a Warlock.

But then Alec glances back at Magnus, offering him an apologetic smile, and he realises that it’s all going to be worth it. The people who don’t understand it now will eventually get used to it, and even if they never do, he’ll still have Alec.

The Clave members eventually leave and for the first time in days, they’re alone.

“I’m so glad we got away from that crowd and all those people,” Alec says as he walks back towards Magnus, “so _intense_.”

“I have to hand it to you, Alexander,” says Magnus no longer able to keep his smile under control, “you certainly know how to make a statement.”

Alec smiles too, stepping closer to Magnus. For a moment it looks like they might kiss again, but then Magnus notices that Alec’s parents are marching towards them and he once again slinks away into the background.

“What have you done, Alec, to us, this family?” Maryse asks her son in a hushed and deadly tone.

“This isn’t about you,” Alec retorts.

“Of course it is,” says Maryse. “You’re either being selfish or naïve. This wedding was your plan from the start and now you have _humiliated_ us in front of the most respected members of the Clave. I don’t even recognise you anymore.”

Though Alec is trying to mask it, Magnus can see how much Maryse’s verbal attack is hurting him and Magnus finds himself wishing for their soul bond again. He would give anything right now to be able to send Alec an encouraging thought, to remind him that he’s not alone.

“I’m the same person I’ve always been,” says Alec firmly. “Now everything’s just out in the open.”

“And all for a Downworlder.” Maryse voice is ice cold and dripping with disappointment. Magnus is unsurprised to find that the sentiments that once led her to join the Circle have never really changed.

“He’s my Fated, Mom,” says Alec with a sigh. “Or at least he was until I proposed to Lydia and chose against the bond.”

“That’s not possible,” says Maryse, her eyes wide. “It’s been over a hundred years since the last case of a Shadowhunter-Downworlder soul pair, if such a thing even really exists. You’re obviously lying.”

“When have you ever known me to be a liar?” Alec rakes a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m not asking for your approval or even for you to believe me. You just need to realise that this is important to me – this isn’t something that’s going away.”

Maryse recoils as if struck and fixing Alec with one last contemptuous glare, she storms off.

“Just give her time,” says Robert in a far more even and reasonable tone.

“And you?” Alec asks and Magnus feels like punching the air at how wonderfully direct and confrontational Alec is being. Seeing Alec’s transformation from the shy, repressed Shadowhunter who was afraid to admit his feelings even to himself, to this new, honest Alec who won’t accept being looked down on by anyone, not even his parents, makes Magnus so happy it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep his face neutral.

“I don’t really understand this,” Robert admits, “but I suppose our world is changing. How long has this been going on? Are you two in love?”

God bless Robert Lightwood and his sweet but misguided attempt to talk to Alec about his feelings. Magnus knows from experience that to get anywhere emotionally with Alec takes time, patience and a level of ease and confidence that his father simply does not have.

“Love?” Alec laughs. “What? No, it’s a… it’s sort of a different… it’s not –“

“It’s all very new,” Magnus interjects, saving Alec from himself as he walks over to join him.

“Right,” Robert replies, looking uncomfortable now that he’s faced with both of them together. “Well, I’m going to go check on Mom.”

And with one last pat on Alec’s arm, Robert leaves Magnus and Alec alone together again. He’s finally able to get a good look at Alec and though he seems to be holding himself together bravely, Magnus sees the deep hurt in his eyes.

 _‘Magnus, family is everything to me. You have to know that…_ ‘

He knows that Alec is living through his deepest fear right now – the fear that those he loves most will treat him differently once he tells them who he really is, and Magnus has never felt more pity or more pride than he does for him right now.

 But today is supposed to be about Alec discovering that it’s possible for him to be happy, and since Magnus knows that Alec has a tendency to get stuck in his head when he’s worried or upset, his solution is to distract him before he has the chance.

“You know what I just realised?” he asks and Alec turns his head to look at him. “We haven’t gone on our first date yet.”

To his delight, Alec’s face breaks into a smile.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “Want to, I don’t know, get a drink sometime?”

And, despite the fact that the Clave is as prejudiced as it’s ever been, despite the fact that Valentine is still threatening his people and the Downworld at large, despite the fact that Alec’s parents might never accept their relationship, for that moment, hearing Alec hesitantly ask him out on a date, everything seems right with the world.

“I would love that,” Magnus smiles.

“Great,” says Alec, looking happier and lighter than Magnus has ever seen him. This, Magnus realises, is the Alec he’s only been able to see glimpses of over the last few weeks, and it only makes the day’s events that much more wonderful. Alec clears his throat after a short silence. “I, um, we should probably start preparing for our mission soon, but I first want to find Lydia and see if she’s okay.”

“Of course,” Magnus nods.

“Come with me?” Alec asks nervously. “I mean, if you want to go home and get ready there, that’s fine. I’m just… I would just really like to spend some more time with you.”

The colour flooding Alec’s cheeks is the most adorable thing Magnus has ever seen and without a word, he smiles at Alec, laces their fingers together, and leads him out of the weapons room.

Just as they’re about to head into one of the hallways that lead away from the control room, Magnus is stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice: Ragnor.

_“Good news, old friend, you’re almost rid of me. But before I go – and do forgive me if my memory is a little vague, dying seems to have that effect – wasn’t there a large section on soul marks in the Book of the White? Perhaps, once it’s back in safe hands, there may be a way to recover what you’ve lost.”_

Magnus turns around expecting to see his friend, but he’s not there and a fresh pang of sorrow sweeps through him as he realises that that was probably the last time he’ll ever hear his friend’s voice.

When he turns back to Alec, he sees that his brow is creased with worry.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” says Magnus, his heart hammering as he smiles reassuringly up at Alec. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m just a little bit jumpy from all the adrenaline.”

“Okay,” says Alec, though he doesn’t look completely convinced. “You’ll tell me if something is wrong, though?”

“Definitely,” Magnus assures him.

He doesn’t want to tell Alec about the possibility of getting their soul marks back right now in case it’s a false hope. Once he’s had enough time to study the spell book, he’ll talk to Alec about what he finds.

He can’t deny though that the idea of having their marks back is a thrilling one. The thought of being connected to Alec again, of being able to share everything they’ve shared openly and without secrecy this time, reminds Magnus that despite four hundred years of painful and disappointing moments, life somehow always manages to offer him something to look forward to. The hope of potentially sharing a future with Alec the way it was meant to be, without the consequences of all their mistakes, is a second chance he’s not sure he deserves, but one he craves anyway.

Ironically, though he realises now more than ever how much unnecessary pain she put him through for her own amusement and how twisted she’s become in recent years, Magnus has never been more eager to find Camille.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand it's done! 
> 
> There's still so much story I want to tell, so you can definitely look forward to a sequel based on Season 2 at some point in the near future.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's read this and who's taken the time to leave kudos and comments. It means so much to me. ♥


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